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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283054">Linings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Clearwater/pseuds/R_Clearwater'>R_Clearwater</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey, Warehouse 13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(I guess Harold Finch can't be the only one), (Though technically someone does get paranoid in this), A lot of angst (If we're being honest), All of the crossovers, F/M, Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Oh wait wrong crossover, Our focus is on Team Clartie and Chelsie (as the latter gets their act together that is), There is fluff and humor and angst in this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:34:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>28,764</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24283054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Clearwater/pseuds/R_Clearwater</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><span>An old house, abandoned. An unsolved case, decades old. A woman entrenched in darkness, vanishing year after year. That is what awaits Artie Nielsen and Claudia Donovan at Downton Abbey. That, and the foreboding sense that–– </span><br/> </p>
<p>  <span>"Okay, okay. It’s not<em> that</em> serious, dude!”  </span></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <span>“Claudia, so help me––”</span></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anna Bates/John Bates, Artie Nielsen &amp; Claudia Donovan, Charles Carson &amp; Elsie Hughes, Charles Carson/Elsie Hughes, Pete Lattimer &amp; Myka Bering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Case</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For KJay99.</p>
<p><strong>General Author's Note: </strong>We've got angst, humor, Team Clartie banter, hints of Chelsie romance, and more. For Downton, it'll be the in-between point of Series 3 and 4. For Warehouse, it's in the Season 2 era, post-"Merge With Caution".</p>
<p>Also! I have now discovered how to do line breaks on this site. In other words, would you believe we're amping up in professionalism?</p>
<p><strong>Grammar/Spelling Note: </strong>This is going to blend American and British spellings together. I accidentally do that all of the time, but this time it'll be more intentional –– to help show when we're in WH13 land versus DA land. Hopefully, that'll make sense soon enough. If it doesn't feel free to drop a line.</p>
<p><strong>Downton Abbey synopsis: </strong>Picture a grand old house in the Yorkshire county that delves with what life might have been like back in England during the early 20th century (around the Edwardian Era, to be specific). A very dramatic and poignant life to be lived, especially during this story. And, though we only get a hint of why it's so poignant today, you'll find out why soon enough.</p>
<p><strong>Warehouse 13 synopsis: </strong>Imagine a warehouse located in the USA, a warehouse filled with endless magical-like artifacts. Historical artifacts that have been powered by extraordinary moments in time, artifacts that are now being stored in Warehouse 13 to keep the world safe. Said warehouse is maintained by a team of individuals who go anywhere they need to in order to "snag, bag, and tag" other artifacts that are causing people all sorts of problems.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daybreak glistened in the distance, peace wafting toward the tired teenager known as Claudia Donovan. The American redhead shuffled her way toward any part of the B&amp;B not coated in sunlight, intentionally ignoring the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon. Days off were rare for the people involved with the Warehouse, something that inspired her to take full advantage of today.</p><p> </p><p>Sliding into the first comfy chair she could, the youngest member of Team Warehouse sank in as deeply as possible, hoping to ignore the outside world for a few more hours at least. Everyone was off doing whatever it was they did whenever they had free time, leaving her to enjoy the bliss.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Slam!</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Oh, great.</p><p> </p><p>She'd spoken too soon.</p><p> </p><p>And there was really only one person in this house capable of putting such grumpiness into closing a door.</p><p> </p><p>"Artie, it's my day off." Claudia didn't need to see her boss to know that he was on a mission. Arthur "Artie" Nielsen, formerly known as Arthur Weisfelt, probably wouldn't know what to do with free time if it'd been wrapped up with a nice pretty bow.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, well, she'd declared this weekend to be her weekend off from anything and everything. If he wanted her to do inventory back at the Warehouse, that was on him –– she was leaving that all behind for the next two days at least!</p><p> </p><p>"Kiddo, we don't get days off in this line of work."</p><p> </p><p>Case in point: clearly, <em>he </em>really needed one if he thought that.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, he was right. But, <em>also </em>of course, that didn't mean Grumpy McGrumperson over there in the corner wasn't in need of a vacation.</p><p> </p><p>"Well, I don't know where Pete and Myka are so I can't help you there, gramps. Best of luck to ya!"</p><p> </p><p>Claudia smirked as she could hear the man roll his eyes at her remark. It was atypical of her to be this petulant, at least when it came to cases and pings. But, seriously, when was the last time she got a break? And, yeah, normally, she wanted to be in the middle of all the action, never missing a chance to help out at the Warehouse.</p><p> </p><p>But today?</p><p> </p><p>Today, she was tired. Tired and wanting to curl up in a nice comfy chair, more than happy to be left alone for a few hours.</p><p> </p><p>"I'm not looking for Pete and Myka." Surprise, surpri–– actually, that <em>was </em>a surprise. Chances were he'd already sent them on a case and she'd just slept through that meeting, but still.</p><p> </p><p>"Haven't seen Leena either. Guess you'll have to leave me alone now."</p><p> </p><p>"Actually," Claudia didn't like the sound of this. "I was looking for you."</p><p> </p><p>"Dude," The teenager was all for owning up to her age, whining effortlessly, "I am inventoried-out this week! In fact, Artie, I actually think it's my time of the mo––"</p><p> </p><p>He interrupted the young woman before she could say another word, flustered beyond belief, "Not inventory! Not inventory! A case!"</p><p> </p><p>She should've snickered at the sight. Really, he got so embarrassed it tended to make her day. However, there were more important things at hand. "A case?"</p><p> </p><p>"Yup. But if it's–– if you've got–– if––"</p><p> </p><p>"That's not for another two weeks." Claudia bluntly informed him, positively grinning at the mortified disbelief. When his eyebrows furrowed to the point of no return, "C'mon, Artie! What's the case about?"</p><p> </p><p>The agent remained adamantly defensive, the quintessential curmudgeon: "You can read the file on the plane."</p><p> </p><p>So, she was still on the case!</p><p> </p><p>Any thoughts of lounging all day were long since ditched because this was definitely a rarity, even if it wasn't a first. "Do Pete and Myka know?"</p><p> </p><p>"Obviously."</p><p> </p><p>The redhead chuckled, "Okay, for real this time: do Pete and Myka know we're heading out?"</p><p> </p><p>"They know I'm going on a case and that you're coming with me."</p><p> </p><p>"But they don't know the details?"</p><p> </p><p>Artie sighed at the persistent attitude, eventually confirming, "They don't know all the details."</p><p> </p><p>The man doubtlessly expected her to be shocked, to try to get him to tell them something. His tendency to be cryptic had worked against him in the past, something every member of the team had no problem reminding him. He could only guess how scandalized his charge would be now that he'd shared the truth.</p><p> </p><p>"I get to go on a secret mission? <em>Sweet</em>!" Yeah, she would take surprising him for the millionth time over trying to wheedle anything else out.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, seeing as how the young woman was now performing some sort of victory dance, her boss felt an understandable urge to put a stop to the fun. "Claudia, it's not a 'secret mission'––"</p><p> </p><p>"Pete and Myka don't know a thing! That, in my book, counts as a secret mission!"</p><p> </p><p>"Claudia,"</p><p> </p><p>"So, where are we going, gramps? New York? Chicago? Salt Lake City?"</p><p> </p><p>Now he was remembering why he tended to refrain from taking her on missions. She was a good field agent, but her energy could drive him up a wall. "When we get on the plane I'll let you read the file, kid. We're gonna be late as it is."</p><p> </p><p>"But, <em>Artie</em>––"</p><p> </p><p>"When we get on the plane," The supervisor made sure to enunciate each and every word, emphasizing his expanding irritation as he began to shoo her away, "You'll read the file."</p><p> </p><p>When that failed to obtain anything more than complaints about the lack of information, the man gave up and started countering each complaint with one word:</p><p> </p><p>"Pack!"</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Keys jangled tiredly against her hip, begging to be released from the day. She may be the keeper of the house but she could take orders herself.</p><p> </p><p>Slivers of a tremble brought on by exhaustion gripped her. Fingers worn down by loss began their nightly routines –– buttons were tirelessly worked on, a corset loosened from obligation, aching hair became unpinned.</p><p> </p><p>Naturally, that was when <em>it </em>started.</p><p> </p><p>"<em>Remember, somewhere the sun is shining,"</em></p><p> </p><p>"Oh, shut up," The groan was uncharacteristic, the woman anticipating that nothing would stop this delirious optimism from snaking back into her grief. But she wouldn't fall prey to the mocking lyric, the hypnotic taunt. Not tonight. This wasn't the first time that bloody melody crept into her mind and she'd been able to ignore it each and every time. Even if she was the only one in this house to hear it, she would never succumb to its suggestions.</p><p> </p><p>Because, yes, she was the only one.</p><p> </p><p>She was the only one who snagged its cheery message –– a message that slipped through poignant cracks, lyrics blatantly decreeing hope must be held. She'd learnt that truth the hard way, when absently mentioning the wretched song to another soul resulted in foolish perplexity for them both.</p><p> </p><p><em>What are you talking about, Mrs. Hughes? I don't hear any sort of music...</em> <em>Are you sure you're all right?</em></p><p> </p><p>It had been ridiculously easy to weave a tale of having some incessant tune stuck in her thoughts, something that dismissed the matter at once. Still, the incident taught her something vital:</p><p> </p><p>She really was the only one who heard the bloody thing. She was the only one haunted with a vision –– one wherein the woman saw herself trailing through shadowed grandeur in search for the source behind the sound. There were multiple visions, in fact. Multiple scenes in which she saw herself taking actions she would never have dared to, meddling in matters that ought to be left alone.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, well, there was no need for such thoughts. She needn't be controlled by that vision or any trivial lyrics.</p><p> </p><p>If only she wasn't lying to herself.</p><p> </p><p>Elsie Hughes didn't dare glance in the direction that would prove herself a liar. She merely carried on with her evening rituals and prepared herself for another night deprived of sleep. And she would do her best to pretend as though she wasn't only a night from letting her resolve shatter.</p><p> </p><p>Yes, she definitely wasn't one night away from following through on the plan that'd haunted her endlessly.</p><p> </p><p>Not in the slightest.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They had holed themselves up in the first hotel they could get, taking this first day in the L.A. County to acclimate to the weather of Southern California. For Myka Bering, this meant perusing through the case's files out on their sunny little patio. For Pete Lattimer, this meant jumping onto one of their queen-sized beds, lounging out as best as he could and surfing through the TV channels available to them.</p><p> </p><p>But when the cartoons of the hour were deemed lame and the rest of the shows too boring to watch, "They're gonna be fine, right?"</p><p> </p><p>She didn't even look up from her perch, "Oh, yeah. I'm sure it'll all work out just fine."</p><p> </p><p>"Myks, you're not really convincing me here."</p><p> </p><p>"Pete," Meticulously closing her files on the case, the woman readjusted herself and looked back into the hotel room. "Artie and Claudia have had a case together before. They'll be fine."</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah. Do you remember how it went?" When going after mysterious bank transactions brought Artie and Claudia up against the enthralling stockings of Mata Hari –– stockings used to seduce individuals of all sorts way back in the day –– the results had not been pretty. The case worked out in the end, but it'd been close to falling apart on more than one occasion.</p><p> </p><p>"Yeah," Myka echoed, thinking to herself. Claudia was an excellent field agent when given the chance to do her thing. Artie wasn't too bad himself, all things considered. The pair did tend to work wonders at the Warehouse, even if the teen's unorthodox methods didn't exactly coalesce with the more traditional approach of their boss. Of course, just because the pair worked well together in the office didn't mean this was destined to work out in the field.</p><p> </p><p>"Do you remember where they said they were going?"</p><p> </p><p>There was only one response to the question: "Will you go right back to cartoons after we find out?"</p><p> </p><p>He grinned, both well aware of the answer.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Wrong</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Author's Note: </strong>Remember how I mentioned there'd be angst? This is definitely one of those chapters (as well as a chapter that gives more away for the story). This also plays a little with the canon of Downton when it comes to the show's gramophone, but that's the joy of fanfiction.</p>
<p>For <em>Ten Other Ways</em> fans, this chapter should be familiar, though a little more edited.</p>
<p>Oh, and, because I forgot to explain this before: If the words "<em>Look like this" </em>that means a song is being heard.</p>
<p><strong>Disclaimer: </strong>Still don't own <em>Downton Abbey </em>or <em>Warehouse 13.</em></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The song called to Elsie Hughes long before she entered the Great Hall, the woman finally giving into its command. This wasn't the first time the music had clung onto her mind, but it was the first time she couldn't shake the incessant optimism off— the noise far louder and more insistent than ever before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Look for that silver lining,"</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Its message had first snuck into her thoughts when she'd seen an abandoned record perched on a shelf. The record that silently begged her to recall Lady Sybil's fondness for the piece. The recording may have flopped, but that had hardly deterred the youngest Crawley sister from playing the piece. In fact, the young lady had been seen on many occasions listening to it. So much did she treasure the record, her father had banished it to the attic only a day after she passed –– if only for the sake of the ladies of the house and not for his own grief, of course.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Whenever a cloud appears in the blue."</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yet it did not remain lost to the world forever. Elsie had once found herself in the attic one afternoon, having some trivial reason for being in the gloomy space. Well, whatever her reason, all tasks had been abandoned to the dust. Instead, memories she typically deemed foolish sprang to mind, wading through the darker paths of her thoughts.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, with all of those recollections, a dreaded guilt followed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After all, <em>she</em> had been the one who escaped death. She was the one who walked away from a cancer scare while Lady Sybil was the one mercilessly struck down by a witless doctor weeks later. Although a small part of her recognised that she had not caused Lady Sybil's death, a far larger part held onto the belief that none of this was right. The loveliest spirit in the house, the one person she personally felt had the greatest potential for life, shouldn't be the one gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"Remember, somewhere the sun is shining,"</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When remorse had swum through her vision at the sight of that damn record, shame mercilessly burrowing itself into her breath, the abandoned object had been left alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time crept by. And though the record and the gramophone should've been kept out of sight, Rose MacClare brought it back into sight when she came to Downton. Indeed, for a short time all was becoming well again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Death was more than happy to remedy the situation: Mr. Crawley was killed in a car accident, right at the birth of his child, nearly one year later. Unable to stop from recognising the eerie parallels, Elsie found herself noticing the terrible similarities between the two tragedies. She also couldn't help but recall how this loss of life was once again disgustingly unfair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>My, how the world changes.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, the housekeeper would not normally dream of entertaining what, in another person, she would've usually declared as foolishly deprecating thoughts. But, grief was a haze –– a terrible fogginess that clouded logic and allowed for fear to take control. She soon found herself struggling against the situation, unable to dismiss her feelings. And thus found herself on a path she never thought she would take.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"And so the right thing to do is to make it shine for you."</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It hadn't taken long to find the record again. Feeling as though it was her duty to make sure the thing wasn't haphazardly tossed aside, she'd taken charge of it. Guarded it, to remind herself of the two souls lost to the world. Kept an eye on it, held onto the thing as though it were a penance for outliving what should've been her fate. It stayed hidden in her room, being the lone exception that proved the rule she frequently reminded her subordinates of:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Nothing in this house is ours.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, it wasn't hers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it was hers to protect.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, tonight, it was hers to play. To bring into the Great Hall once everyone had gone to bed, to carefully place onto the device that started this all. To revel in its memories, to allow it to be a fitting tribute for the lost souls that had listened to it time and time again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gently lifting the record and delicately placing it onto the gramophone, the woman tightly clutched the needle that would play the sound. As her hand slowly brought the instrument to the appropriate part of the record, old thoughts stitched themselves into tonight's actions. Where was the fairness in any of this? Why was a servant far past her prime allowed to live? Why did two young individuals who had so much potential and opportunity have to die? And, for that matter—</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Where is this supposed silver lining?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She almost lost herself to these thoughts. Had it not been for the crackly quality of the record as it began, she would've been stuck there in that hall for an infinite amount of time. But as the song started up, Elsie snatched the needle away — silencing the scene. She regained control of her thoughts in that moment, realising that playing the music would only alert all those sleeping to her actions. More importantly, it wouldn't be conducive to continuing her role in the house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Having no idea what came over her, the woman took a step backwards from the device and looked away in horror, unsure of herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Little did she know, it was too late.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The record, safely positioned in the gramophone, glowed for only a second. She'd already turned away from the sight –– deeply ashamed she allowed her grief to play with possessions that weren't her. Had she caught a maid doing this, the subordinate would've been sacked on the spot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking another step away from the device, keeping her back firmly to it and, consequently, missing its glow recede into darkness, Elsie Hughes took a shuddering breath to regain her bearings. Then and only then, in the stifling quiet of the night, did she let herself finally cry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Truly, it was all <em>so </em>wrong.</p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"You didn't tell me we were going to a <em>castle</em>!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Weren't you paying attention on the eight-hour flight over here? Did you read your brief <em>at</em> <em>all</em>?" He already knew all of the answers to those questions, but the portly man still persisted in his inquiries –– the flight having thinned out his already slimmed down patience.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Really, he needed to stop thinking about his figure. Pete cracked one joke about it weeks ago and Artie found himself thinking about it a helluva lot more ever since.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh, duh." She had wanted to look over the case files, it'd just been a really long day that, coincidentally, was supposed to be her day off. "Artie, all you said was it was called 'Downton Abbey', not 'Downton Castle'."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That would be because it's not considered a castle. According to our records,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Oh, no, not this–– </em>"Please, please, <em>please</em> save the history lesson for the morning. I'm not Myka–– I don't need to know every single detail. And I definitely don't need to know anything at 5 A.M., our time."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This, this was something the agent couldn't believe: "It's six in the evening in South Dakota — you do know how time zones work, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia swiped away his bewilderment, blaming her mistake on the inevitable jet-lag, "Of course I do! Who do you think I am, Pete? Still don't need the history lesson, by the way."</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Why do I even bother? </em>"Fine. You want to wander into this without knowing a damn thing? You get to wait for me outside."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Outside? <em>Outside</em>? Outside in the middle of nowhere, England? At <em>night</em>? Artie, you'd really do that to a fellow agent?" She was living up the sounds that accompanied a wounded teenagehood, there really was no other way to describe it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How many times do I have to tell you that you're <em>not</em> a field agent, Claudia?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Geeze, you electrocute a guy once and he never trusts you again. Oh, wait, maybe it's actually <em>me</em> who should be having the trust issues, professor. After all, you're the one who gave up the search for Joshua in the first place." Maybe she was revisiting old issues because it'd been enough of a journey without the extra grumpiness beside her. Maybe it was because, even though she'd come to care for Artie, she was human. A human who was tired and jet-lagged and didn't want to be reminded of her official newbie status. "Though, I suppose you've kinda redeemed yourself over the last year. But if you ask me––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia, we don't have time for this––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, yeah, yeah –– I heard you the first time. We've only got thirty minutes to find that ghost woman person memory thing, and then it's about neutralizing whatever artifact has been messing with her and the house. We going into this haunted castle or not?"</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>As the butler of the house, Charles Carson always felt remiss in his duties if he failed to thoroughly conduct his nightly rounds. And though he had already done just that about an hour ago, there was a feeling that niggled at his thoughts. A worrying instinct that quietly carried him back down into the depths of the home and had him patrol the halls once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was where he came upon her standing in the middle of the Great Hall. That was how he confirmed his suspicions that his colleague wasn't obtaining the rest she required.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was when he saw how tormented his dear friend truly was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Concernedly watching from the shadows, knowing she was oblivious to his presence, the man kept his eyes on his friend's now trembling form.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mrs. Hughes really had no idea that her poignant display of melancholy was being glimpsed by another. She was clueless to everything but her grief. Truly, the more his friend wallowed in what she tended to classify as distastefully pointless angst, the more he wanted to comfort her however he could. Hold her hands again like before when Lady Sybil passed, let her collapse against him, <em>anything </em>to help.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But something changed in her, giving him no time to react. Something unfamiliar snuck into her eyes and coldly glinted in the darkness. What it was exactly, he didn't have a chance to figure out. An empty, weak chuckle was flinging itself into the air, blue eyes remaining disturbingly glassy as she continued to shake with repressed grief. And as she remained numbly standing in the middle of the hall, he couldn't help the desperate step he took toward her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was <em>all</em> so wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude, is she okay? Because, I'm not convinced. Like, at all."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie Nielsen did not glare at Claudia Donovan's question, knowing that it came from a place of concern. Obviously, the teenage girl recognized the look of suffering this stranger held onto in the silence. The redheaded American probably saw it as a parallel of how life was for her when Joshua seemed lost forever, when her brother was just out of reach and her parents were long gone. And since the stranger in question was oblivious to their presence –– no doubt, a result of the artifact that brought the two agents here in the first place –– Claudia could be as blunt about this as she liked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"She'll be okay." Though he has felt sympathy for this unknown woman all these years, this exhausted individual who continued to stand in the center of this grand and defeated hall, the situation was all a construct of an artifact. This could all be solved, everything could be neutralized through their efforts. And then this ever-present grief could be put to rest. "Nothing's changed."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Essentially, his current theory was that the situation was brought about by a memory from an earlier time. Long story short, as the portly man had explained to his half-asleep charge on the plane, it was the equivalent of the movie <em>Groundhog Day</em>. The difference was, this scene only came to life once a year, having done so for decades.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Though, I don't remember her––</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Wait, so you've been here before?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Of course I've been here before.</em> The naïve question incurred a disbelieving scoff from the agent. Said scoff soon shifted into a sigh of bemusement that quickly gave way to thinly veiled vexation –– bemusement from the recollections being triggered, vexation from the teen's lack of attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though, was it really Claudia's fault that this old enigma, one that had captivated Downton Abbey for the last eighty years, haunted his innermost thoughts?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, she should've been paying attention earlier!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"As I told you on the <em>eight-hour</em> flight over, this case has been open for awhile, kid."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How long's awhile, old man? The Cretaceous Period?" Claudia snarked, unable to resist the jibe. He gave a mixture of a scoff and snort, not interested in the age jokes tonight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It's been twenty years." Twenty years of detouring via missions and surmising that the Warehouse couldn't afford to solve what was deemed an insignificant problem. Case after case, artifact after artifact found the older man unable to return to this place until tonight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, now? Now it looked like this case really had been in a sort of stasis all that time –– not causing damage to the world, even when left unsolved. Just as the Regents had predicted, just as Mrs. Frederic had warned him after his third inquiry.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The supervising field agent just couldn't leave this alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why didn't you solve it back then?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sharp, defensive irritation sparked at the audacious question, the man turning back to his fellow agent. "Because there hadn't been enough time, Claudia, why else? I had <em>less than a night</em> to figure it out."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Geeze, gramps, give a girl some breathing space." She retorted, crossing her arms in the process as she gave him her own scowl. "Just because I'm younger than this case doesn't mean you have to get all grumpy on me."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia," Artie started up again, more than a little irritated from the lengthy flight and the exhausting situation as a whole. But the young teen wasn't going to stop talking, not by a long shot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I mean, I understand that you, as a jet-lagged grumposaur," Eyebrows furrowing as a scowl emitted –– nobody dared to call him a 'grumposaur' before her. "Wouldn't be able to understand how–– hey, where'd she go?!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eyes shut themselves in frustration for only a second, a self-deprecating thought prodding his mind. It was with a wary edge that the senior agent turned back to the spot that the woman had stood. Just as his charge had loudly pointed out, the stranger had vanished into thin air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just like the last time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Artie Nielsen, you're an idiot.</em> How could he have wasted a chance to solve a time-sensitive case by getting frustrated with a kid who was still figuring out her way in the world? He'd been doing this job long enough her comments shouldn't have been more than a minuscule blip on his radar tonight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"She totally disappeared on us!" Claudia spelled out the obvious, bewilderment taking hold of her tone. Her sympathy for the stranger's plight had disappeared, vast confusion being all that remained. "But nothing happened! No glowy objects, no wind effects, nothing!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Like I said," Artie kept on staring at the spot the woman had been standing, personal disappointment strangling any remaining hope. Another night wasted because of his stupidity. And now they'd need to wait another year. All because of him. "Nothing's changed."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just like that day twenty years ago, she vanished without a trace.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, this time, he wasn't going to leave this––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Wait, who's he?" Unfortunately, the teen's words weren't reaching her supervisor's ears right now. The American was still berating himself for missing yet another opportunity to solve this mystery. "Artie, who's Jeeves?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia, what are you talking about?" But he was already turning back in the direction her focus lay, eyes widening as he saw another figure step into sight. "That did <em>not</em> happen last time."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They watched the man cautiously enter the hall and walk to the same spot that the woman had been. When the stranger didn't react to any of Claudia's high-pitched questions, questions loud enough no one could possibly ignore them, Artie had to assume he was another unexpected part of the time-loop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What do you mean that didn't happen last time?" Insistent that her fellow American explain himself, the teen got straight to the point, "Artie, what does that mean?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It means, Claudia," Having tossed aside his frustration when "Jeeves" appeared, a hand unconsciously ran through frazzled curls, thinking it all over. "That the case has changed."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie remembered what happened twenty years like it was yesterday: he and MacPherson had only seen the woman stand in this hall for about ten minutes. After ascertaining that she existed in some sort of loop, they'd gone about neutralizing potential artifacts in the room. Nothing had worked, but she'd still disappeared.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And what does that mean, Artie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At first, the agents thought they'd solved the mystery of Downton Abbey, even though nothing had been officially neutralized. When Artie found out a few years later that a "mysterious woman" had been sighted in the building late one night, he knew nothing could be further from the truth. But then, life got in the way. More "noteworthy" cases built upon themselves, more "pressing" artifacts demanded the Warehouse's attention, detaining him from putting this to rest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Artie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had never forgotten this case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not for one minute.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It means," The portly man began to repeat, turning to his charge even as he kept a sharp eye on the stranger. The implication that they could still see this man as he quickly strode out of the hall was both reassuring and disconcerting — his presence was an undeniable indicator that something had changed. They just needed to figure out if it was for better or worse. "That this is <em>not</em> over."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, with that, there was only one final conclusion to claim:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was all so very, very <em>wrong</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For WH13 fans, you may have guessed this case was low-key inspired by one from the final season. However, I'm doing my best to make sure it's not identical to that particular case. Moreover, although I liked the episode's concept I really wish Claudia had been there instead.</p>
<p>In any case, definitely hope you're enjoying the adventure! Next up, trying to figure out what on earth is going and what can be done to solve the case! Have a lovely day and see you next Tuesday!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Author's Note: </strong>Today, we've got a Jedi moment, peculiar "ghosts", a breakfast experiment, and the mentioning of a toaster –– enjoy!</p>
<p><strong>Disclaimer: </strong>Totally don't own <em>Downton Abbey </em>or <em>Warehouse 13. </em>And, we're definitely going to be taking liberties in regards to this time-loop (but, seriously, when don't we take liberties?).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The American agents couldn't risk catching anyone's attention by wandering the Yorkshire country late at night. And while Artie was initially against the idea of taking over two of the house's rooms, Claudia managed to wheedle him into admitting that –– seeing as how he'd forgotten to book a hotel, figuring tonight wouldn't go south –– staying in the abandoned castle was their best bet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And <em>that </em>is exactly why, after a few hours of disoriented sleep, the teenager woke up to the sound of her door being opened without a care in the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Artie! Haven't you ever heard of knocking! C'mon, dude, you can't say you haven't––" She'd accidentally banged her head against an old headboard as she jolted awake, rubbing the sore spot with apprehension when she realized Artie wasn't in the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia couldn't hear the voice of the woman before her, she had to be a ghost like the two from last night. But she looked really frightened, like she could see the American teen. Which shouldn't be possible. Or, at least, Claudia hoped it wasn't possible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Freezing in her spot, the redhead warily kept an eye on the woman. She was light-haired and dressed up as a maid, but she didn't give off the same vibes Jeeves and Mrs. Pott –– the names she'd given the pair from last night. Nah, Blondie looked more conniving than those two.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luckily, the teen didn't need to do much to make her escape. She would have to sacrifice her suitcase for the time being, having tucked it under the bed and well out of sight. But, yeah, back to the smoothly escaping part.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This is not the room you're looking for," Claudia calmly stated, holding out a Jedi pose and trying to figure out if Blondie really could see her. Her actions triggered nothing. Maybe the teen hadn't actually been discovered like she originally thought?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, nothing like running out of the room to get a real answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Being extra careful not to bump into Blondie, the teen crept past the open door and–– and dodged another maid quickly approaching. This one was blonde, too, but she seemed nicer. Kinda reminded her of Myka or Leena, if Claudia had to make a guess.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She'd be deemed Nice Blondie until a more appropriate pop culture reference could be made. And she was also to be avoided, seeing as how Nice Blondie was only a few inches away and Claudia knew Artie would be supremely pissed if she'd tripped into the ghosts and gotten stuck in some inter-dimension.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay. Fun as escaping and not bumping into ghost maids was, it was time to set this adventure aside. She really needed to find Artie so they could make a game plan. One that would hopefully prioritize retrieving her suitcase as soon as possible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Stealthily making her way down the hallway, heading in the direction she remembered seeing her boss going last night, Claudia held out a hand to knock on the first room he could've possibly ducked into. That is, she held out a hand until she realized that the noise might alert more maids and freak them all out, something that didn't need to happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seriously, did this adventure need to be <em>that </em>difficult?</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is everything all right, Edna?" Anna had heard the maid gasp from quite a distance, surprised to hear her colleague that stunned. Whatever Edna Braithwaite had come across, it had to be something unusual, possibly scandalous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm fine!" The maid hastily protested, but the older woman had already glimpsed the sight of the mussed bedding, proving that something was amiss. There were no guests in Downton –– why, then, did it look as though they'd had visitors?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you sure?" It didn't look like Edna was up to something; she looked like she'd seen a ghost more than anything. But ghosts weren't real, so there had to be a more reasonable explanation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yes."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anna stared Braithwaite down a little longer, hoping the pointed silence would reveal something. Still, when it became clear nothing else would be said, "If you say so."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Make no mistake: Anna Bates was intrigued. If there was a mystery to be had here, she would figure it out.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>It'd been a blast figuring out how to wake up Artie before the maids came across his room. But, as was his tendency with everything else, he immediately stopped all fun. Instead, her boss concentrated on getting them back on track as quickly as he could.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Something she was doing her best to derail, if she was being honest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So, apparently, nobody can see us. But!" Claudia ignored Artie's glower, mischievously continuing to tease her father figure, "<em>If</em> you mess around with their blankets, they will see <em>that</em>."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And just how did you come across <em>that </em>information?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her chuckle was adamantly shameless in nature. Amused would've been a cute description for the sound; tickled would've been a closer fit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay, but what's this plan you're oh so sure about, gramps?" However, as per usual, Artie's grumblings were incomprehensible. "Don't tell me, we have to look over the <em>entire </em>place for something strange or confusing."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What else did you expect?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Honestly?" Her stomach growled, indicating a truth they tended to forget about: they were human and humans couldn't just work on cases all day. "It's a big place...."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And I was kinda hoping for some breakfast before we got started."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, I'm not buying you McDonald's anytime soon. You'll just have to wait it out, kiddo."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, McDonald's was <em>so </em>not on my mind, dude."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do I want to know?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The teen's grin held the answer to that particular question, mischievously widening with every second.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm not going to like this, am I?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Relax, Artie! I just wanna test a personal theory. Go on and start the search without me, I'll be back before you know it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––!"</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Ever since the deaths of Lady Sybil and Mr. Crawley, meals had taken a solemn tone downstairs. That wasn't to say that they were conducted in a hushed silence or that a dreary atmosphere hung over the Servants Hall. Merely to say a deadened air clutched at the space, discouraging anything that hinted of happiness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were the usual surly suspects –– Thomas or Miss O'Brien on a bad day, for instance. However, those characters were the type to set a deviant or impertinent tone in the household, not impart grief. No, it wasn't them. These days there was only one individual who drew with her a sense of loss.<br/><br/></p>
<p>Something that depressed Charles Carson to no end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Any attempts to engage Mrs. Hughes in conversation ever since Lady Sybil's passing resulted in brief, detached discussions at best. Some days, she would cast a certain look in the direction of the butler, making it clear that she wanted to be left well alone. They would perform any necessary rituals for the meal, discuss the normal household tasks, so on and so forth. But there was none of their normal camaraderie, none of the friendship he'd come to cherish over the years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her mood had slowly lifted over the months following the aristocrat's death. She'd begun to smile again, to banter a little and be coaxed back to life. Her movements weren't nearly as mechanical, her words not quite as terse. As a whole, he felt a growing relief at the sight of his friend coming back to her normal self.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Everything had gone back, worsened even, with the death of Mr. Crawley.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And though Charles wouldn't dream of disrespecting her unspoken wishes, he couldn't leave the matter alone. With last night's incident freshly ingrained in his mind, he could only take in her lifeless stare with an expanding uneasiness –– wanting to take all of her grief away, not liking it one bit. But before the man could even begin to say anything, another attempt at conversation was breaking out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"DAISY!" Charles internally winced at the sound of Mrs. Patmore on the rampage, too well-trained to give anything away in his demeanour, "AND JUST WHERE'VE YOU PUT THAT TOAST?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I didn't touch any toast, Mrs. Patmore, I swear!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mrs. Hughes sighed, irritation sneaking into her breath as Mrs. Patmore's scathing accusations carried on in the kitchen. Clearly, as much progress as Daisy has made over the years, there remained times that were destined to end poorly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"If she even <em>thinks </em>of mentioning the storage key today,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd not thought about the storage key in years, finding that all of those arguments had vanished when the housekeeper and the cook finally bonded. Either way, Mrs. Hughes' threat trailed off before it could even get going, shifting into something worse. "It doesn't even matter, does it? Storage keys, toast, none of it matters in the grand scheme."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man's heart tightened at the words, a hand seconds from reaching out. He was stopped only by the knowledge that they were not alone, that there were a multitude of witnesses –– individuals they were in charge of demonstrating a proper example to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He still couldn't do nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It does matter." Mrs. Hughes looked up at his quiet proclamation, a bleary confusion overtaking her initial frustration. "It matters to me."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Does it now?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, this was less of a tease and more of a curiosity. Whilst the butler had publicly supported her side in the battle over the storage key throughout the years, he never seemed invested in the matter. Not like he was with other issues of the house. And given the whole toaster incident, she knew his opinion on that particular subject.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Indeed, it does." Quickly, impulsively, offering up a confession, "For instance, despite my initial misgivings, I've found myself considering purchasing a toaster just the other day."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And he had. If only because he wanted her to be reminded of something that gave her delight. He would never understand why the device fascinated her; he could only concede that it did something for her spirit. That her own toaster met a horrid end months ago only gave him further motivation to make the purchase.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The housekeeper had to be exhausted if she was letting a stunned peal of laughter escape her here. But he had no qualms about the situation, his heart lifting at the thought that Mrs. Hughes could laugh again, even a little.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trite as it may have seemed, any hint of life made a difference.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you wanna check in on them, Mykes?" They'd just finish another investigation into the case. Today, it was about surveying the latest California café mysteriously destroyed. The police reports said vandalism but they knew better.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Pete's, it's been less than a day since they landed." Myka was far more interested in going back to the other cafés that'd been hit, wanting to test out a possible pattern. "And you heard what Artie told us when they got there."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay. Guess I'm doing the checking in, then."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Pete––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It would only take Pete Lattimer approximately two minutes to learn his latest lesson: Artie Nielsen was not to be disturbed when dealing with cases more than a decade old.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It just wasn't worth it.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Anna didn't fancy herself a detective. Nor did she have a burning desire to question everything that seemed off in life. Nevertheless, that scene from before lingered in her thoughts, demanding her focus.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which led to her going over it in her mind, trying to piece together the strange puzzle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bed that no one should have spent the night in had been mussed –– begging the question of <em>why </em>this was the case. If Edna had been the one to use it, why cry out in shock? Of course, really, why would anyone cry out over the sight of a bed that's been slept in?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There had to be something more to this, something she was missing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary?" Anna had waited until they were away from the others to ask her husband that question. She didn't need Miss O'Brien or Thomas to catch wind of this mystery and concoct an obnoxious scheme out of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Other than that it's been peaceful for the last week?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She snorted, knowing what he meant. It was a miracle the house hadn't been set on fire or some equivalent, given its propensity for chaos. Still, "I'm being serious, John."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a light chiding, but it did its job. Her husband took a moment to ponder the question before something chased across his face –– telling her she wasn't the only one to notice something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, his Lordship did notice his snuffbox collection has been reorganized without his knowledge."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anna rolled her eyes at this, smiling. She'd never been able to take that collection seriously, not after that one time with Barrow and O'Brien. Judging from his laughter, John was having the same issue. Soon enough, she couldn't help but join in on this silliness, wondering what scheme those two would be up to next –– that is, <em>if </em>they were still partners in crime.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Regardless, long after the laughter ended, she found herself reminded that something was off about the house. There was something strange afoot here, and she was going to do her best to solve it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>_._</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie Nielsen wasn't pleased to admit the truth. The truth didn't suit him in this instance, didn't help the guilt that'd grab hold of him all these years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luckily, his charge didn't have such qualms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It really is a castle, Artie." Claudia's lack of pithiness only confirmed that she was just as tired. "And, yeah, we've tried a few rooms but we don't even really know where to start, do we? It could still be hidden in that fancy room, but we haven't found anything. It could be on her person, but we're not supposed to bump into her and find out. How exactly are we gonna solve this one?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As always, he remained obstinate. Grumbling may be his <em>raison d'être </em>but obstinacy was a close second. "Maybe we should go over that room again. There might be something there we've missed."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude, we've got a better chance of figuring this out by following Mrs. Potts."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Mrs. Potts'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, Mrs. Potts." Claudia defiantly repeated the name, quickly moving on when it became clear her boss couldn't take it seriously. "Look, I really think there's like only two options, gramps."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, really? And would you care to share those options with the rest of the class, Miss Donovan?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She scowled at him, unmoved by the tetchy tone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, geeze, <em>Professor</em>, if you're gonna be rude I'd rather not." When it was clear he would snip at her if she remained silent, "Okay, I'll share! Sheesh."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie tersely gestured for her to continue, not in the mood for holding out the suspense. "Well, <em>class</em>, it looks like it's either something in the castle,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Abbey, Claudia, it's not a castle!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Abbey, <em>sorry</em> –– though, this brings up a really good point. Can I just say, I'd never want to be named Abbey? Like, at all. I mean, what if everyone mistakens you for some old castle or something? Or,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay, okay! Well, long story short, it's either something in the <em>not</em>-castle that's been calling to her or it's something she owns."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"We already figured that out––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But did we also figure out that the best way to get an answer would be to follow her?" She paused, her attitude drenched in a smug knowledge. "Or was the plan to just split up and search the neverending castle?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The teen was probably right and they both knew it. He wanted to protest her reasoning, not fully convinced "Mrs. Potts" was the cause of this. Years of training told him to keep an open mind and assume nothing. But they were surprisingly overwhelmed by the enormity of Downton Abbey as well as the numerous possibilities. And, frankly, they were running out of time. They were supposed to be back on a plane by now, not trying to figure out what was really going on here. They were liable to be called back if they remained out any longer –– seeing as how this case was still deemed "irrelevant".</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was with a sigh that the senior agent made a frustrating executive decision.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"All right. We'll search her office before lunch. If nothing pans out, <em>then </em>we'll follow her." Artie would not validate Claudia's nickname by calling her "Mrs. Potts". He didn't even dignify her sudden snort, deeming the noise to be unworthy of comment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, the man chose to carry on as if she'd been diligently listening all along: "Just remember, you can't make contact with her or anyone else. Since we don't know what'll happen if we bump into them, we are going to maintain a <em>strict</em> distance."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude, I've been doing this all day. I know what I'm doing."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why doesn't that reassure me?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And so we're getting closer and closer to the heart of the action! Will they be able to solve it by the next chapter? Tune in for the next update, which should be coming out in just a few days! </p>
<p>In any case, wishing you good luck wherever you are, hope you're enjoying this little adventure and that you have a lovely day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Theory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ready for today's adventure? We've got a worn-out housekeeper, a perplexed aristocrat, and a plan that might be the key to everything!</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She had the strangest she was being watched. Someone had to be following her. Not only that, her room had been combed through. But none of it made a wink of sense. There was no one in the house who would dare to do as such.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And unfortunately, that wasn't the most distressing realisation of the morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Far from it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If she wasn't wondering about her rooms, she found herself contemplating a notion. A very foolish notion wherein she had the audacity to go back upstairs and finally play that blasted song––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Is this what it's like to go insane?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Or is this what it's like to carry on with histrionics?" Honestly, she had work that needed to be done! She could lose her mind later; right now, she needed to focus.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay, so following her has led nowhere. And there doesn't seem to be anything in her office." A youthful snicker broke out, distracting the ruffled man. "Now what?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Nothing!" It was way too playful and sheepish to be truthful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie glared, knowing there would be a real answer if he waited. As per usual, the portly man was right: "It's just that I don't really think it was called an office."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I know, I know: we're dealing with what we got." She persisted in a chuckle, tickled. "I'm just imagining what that would sound like." And imitating a horrible accent that didn't sound remotely English, "Jeeves, we need to have a talk –– my office, five minutes."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was unimpressed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The teen sighed, irritated. When nothing changed in his features, she gave an equally unimpressed huff –– letting the hilarious joke fade into nothing. "All right. So, we've got nothing by following her. And there's nothing in the office. Should I go upstairs and have a look at her room while you keep an eye on her?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't like the idea of you going upstairs by yourself,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You're not gonna get scandalized when we have to look through her things, are you? I hear they had to wear <em>corsets </em>back in the day."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Why would I–– just stop."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Oooooh</em>, am I hitting a sore spot?" She was smug, that was for sure.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Also, who's Dr. Calder? She called the other day, wanted to check in –– something about an appendix?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ducking out of reach to avoid the metaphorical daggers being shot at her, "An investigation upstairs it is!"</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Milady?" Charles Carson had not anticipated Lady Mary standing in the Great Hall, glued to that very spot Mrs. Hughes had stood less than twelve hours ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Carson," Surprisingly taken aback by the butler's presence, the eldest Crawley sister coolly whirled around as she regained control of her composure. And gesturing indifferently to the object soon to be in question, "Did I not ask for the removal of this <em>device </em>only yesterday?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My apologies, milady," Charles had no recollection of this request, making sure his face betrayed none of his surprise. The scene only confirmed his suspicion that something strange was about the house. "It will be removed by the end of the day."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lady Mary gave a frosty nod before primly heading off to wherever was next. He quietly sighed, lingering in the hall as his concern trailed after her steps. The recent loss of her husband had not been kind to her, understandably so. Sadly, Lady Mary wasn't the only one in the house who'd grown apathetic, who was being knocked down by grief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, strangely enough, he felt he was getting a glimpse at the reason why.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Taking a step toward the gramophone, the butler cautiously approached the device. There was something about it he didn't like, something that initially escaped his notice. Glancing over the device, an object he was beginning to dread to no end, something else called itself to his attention.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was almost inappropriate for the instrument to remain silent. Truly, the longer he gazed down at it, the more he felt convinced that record needed to be played. Indeed, he found his hand drifting toward the needle, his eyes drinking in the sight. The world had become a little darker in these last few moments –– Lady Mary's grief reminding the butler of Elsie's tears last night. Surely what they needed right now was a sprightly tune.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Please don't be offended if I preach to you awhile,"</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>His hand darted away from the record, the needle remaining in its previous position. He hadn't begun to play the gramophone and yet he'd heard the song as plain as day.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Carson? Is everything all right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Not in the slightest–– </em>"Perfectly fine, milord." Refusing to spare another glance in the direction of that thing, "Is there something you required, milord?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Lord Grantham blinked at the behaviour, perplexed by it all. He didn't really suspect Carson of anything deviant, not after all this time. But there had been something odd in the butler's expression, something he didn't understand. And the fact that the man'd been hovering over the gramophone was rather atypical.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No," The aristocrat intoned, summoning up an even tone. It wouldn't do to cast unnecessary suspicions, not when it was perfectly innocuous. He had to be imagining it, whatever it was he saw. "Carry on, Carson."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The butler nodded at the permission freely handed over, that peculiar quality gone.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you <em>really </em>sure we shouldn't check in on them, Myka?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Pete. You already tried that, you know what happens when we interrupt. If you're really concerned, you can research their case and see about helping them –– have you tried looking into this 'Downton Abbey' for yourself?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a gamble that Myka knew would pay off. Pete Lattimer was never one for research or reading, preferring to avoid anything that involved studying of any kind. And, sure enough, "Yeah, you're right: I bet they're fine."</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>That's what I thought. </em>"Now, did you get any vibes about that Claremont café? There's something about it that struck me as weird…"</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>She'd heard the voices early on, their accents grating and odd. But whenever Daisy Robinson looked for the source, she saw nothing of the queer ghosts that'd taken hold of Downton. No apparitions, no objects moving on their own, nothing. Of course, that lack of discovery hadn't stopped the young woman from making a mess of herself in the kitchen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Quite the opposite, in fact.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Now what is it?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Nothing, Mrs. Patmore!" Daisy tried to dismiss the incident, knowing the cook wouldn't take too kindly to hearing about the ghosts hanging about the kitchen. It wasn't as though these ghosts –– if they were even that –– intentionally stuck themselves in her path. It was only that their voices seemed to crawl through the space from time to time. And every couple of hours that she felt something brush by her, a presence inches away even when nothing was in sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's a pretty big nothing if you've dropped three pans in the last two hours." The redhead snapped. Unfortunately, after a pointed glare and a terse silence, it became clear her subordinate wasn't going to give her anything to go on. So, it was with a terse harrumph that Mrs. Patmore returned back to maintaining her kitchen, giving up her interest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>"Maybe it's her keys," </em>Although the words came from outside Mrs. Hughes' sitting room, Daisy felt like they'd been spoken right next to her. <em>"Could the keys be an artifact?"</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Managing not to yelp, her eyes darted over to where the voices were coming from.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, just like before, no one was there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>"I bet Artie won't believe me though, when I tell him –– gah, it's so lame!"</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, she couldn't hold back from a jolt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh, why was <em>she </em>always the one who came across the ghosts?</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Just leave me alone."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a halfhearted plea to the song that slinked around her mind, incessantly demanding her attention. It had been foolish to steal the record and tuck it away in her possessions. She'd somewhat redeemed herself by leaving the record behind last night. But now? When all she could think about was retrieving the wretched thing and play the piece herself in an attempt to end this madness?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mrs. Hughes?" The housekeeper couldn't tell if this was a blessed interruption or not. "Do you know where I might be able to find some extra thread? It's just, well, I've run out and..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, at least it was Anna interrupting. Heaven only knows what she would have done if it'd been Miss O'Brien instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though, perhaps she would've considered the interruption blessed if Mr. C––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Stop that. Focus.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I can always come back, Mrs. Hughes."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No, no." She was already out of her chair, it'd be easy enough to find what Anna needed. "There's no point in that, not when I already know where it is."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If only she knew some of the more important answers in life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For instance, why on earth was any of this happening in the first place?</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Artie, I really think those keys might be it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They'd been at it all day and there'd been no luck. Searching Mrs. Potts' office didn't lead to anything new. Going back to following her once again led to nothing. What did checking her bedroom give them? Oh, yeah: nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So they'd gone back downstairs office. And double-checked the upstairs bedroom. He kept an eye on Mrs. Potts while she started walking around the not-castle, a plan designed to keep her at arms length from the woman so Claudia wouldn't try anything with the keys.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, guess what? Artie's plan worked. She didn't get any chance to test out her theory about the keys. Didn't even really get a chance to work anything out for herself. Problem was, she'd become <em>extremely </em>bored in the process of searching on her own. In other words? When dinner time rolled around, she'd given up on the search and focused on finding her boss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And how do you suggest we test that theory, hm?" <em>Oh, great. </em>Her fusspot of a father figure was being extra difficult after another day of dead ends. Well, she didn't need any sarcasm from the peanut gallery, that was for sure! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, I think once Jeeves leaves," The man had been in Mrs. Potts' office for quite some time now, chatting up a storm in the process. Seriously, she suspected something between the two. People didn't tend to give up sleep for just anything. "We can try a little something."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie sharply turned around, not liking a certain note in her voice, "Just what were you thinking of?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude," She looked to be holding back a scoff, her patience thinning out. "I thought we'd test out my theory, for starters!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But her patience had been worn down by the day, "Artie, can you honestly tell me that we are any closer to figuring this thing out? We've gotta try <em>something</em>!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm sure it's something in that hallway upstairs. "</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Seriously? We've already checked there! I've gone back there <em>twice</em>!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Just humor me for once, all right?" She scowled at the request, irritated even as he continued, "How about this –– if we don't find anything there tonight, you can figure out a way to goo her keys."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She took the proffered hand with pleasure, "Deal!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But that's <em>only </em>when she's not wearing them!" However, the teen had long since dropped the handshake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sorry, Artie, you didn't say that before we shook on it." She was absolutely unapologetic about the fact, grinning. "But, speaking of goo, I totally snuck a can onto the plane––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You what?!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Relax, gramps, I didn't get caught and nothing spilled! It worked like a charm and it's been safe all day. In fact, lemme grab it, I'll be right back!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia, we've already discussed why we can't just––" But the teen was already long gone, no doubt retrieving that aforementioned can of hers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At such actions, the supervisor couldn't help an exasperated sigh. Or the irritated scoff that followed. Or his hand ruffling up frustrated curls before heading back to the "fancy room", wondering when his life turned into this confusing mess.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>As much as she enjoyed Mr. Carson's company, the urge to play the song had become far too overwhelming. Therefore, it was with a sense of regret that Elsie claimed to be too exhausted to continue with the conversation. Which wasn't entirely a lie, given her weariness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it wasn't entirely the truth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd accepted the excuse gracefully, surprisingly enough. He'd even gone so far as to offer assistance with any additional tasks she had on her plate. It was sweet and almost procured a blush from the woman. In the end, however, her pride won out and she politely thanked him for such an offer, giving him nothing else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her only regret was that it seemed he understood her intentions all too well. That he recognised what she'd not said and looked disappointed by the decision. Still, he respected it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And that had been all she could ask for, really.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They'd started to part ways. She'd made to step away, stating that there was something in her sitting room she'd forgotten about. But then he'd given her a strange look, one that rid her mind of that song. And with that voice she'd grown fond of, the kind one the staff seldom witnessed, he asked –– pleaded was probably the right word for it but she never thought of him to make pleas –– for her to take it easy for one night. Just one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She couldn't say no to him. Didn't want to, not really.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, they went up together. And she waited, listening to his quietly puttering away on the other side of that wall, wondering what might've happened had she said yes to his offer from before. Had she told him everything, confessed all of her worries and revealed this trivial burden –– a cheerful song that couldn't help but depress her each and every time she heard its tune. One that begged her to release it from its silent prison, as if it were alive! </p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, no matter. She hadn't done any of that. And the song was still calling to her now. It craved for her to come back and she was much too tired to question it. It was with trickles of regret that she slipped away from her bedroom, a fleeting glance to his room almost dissuading her. However, it seemed the best course of action was to wander back down into the Great Hall and–– and realise that something very precious was missing.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>There had been nothing. They'd searched the hallway top to bottom for more than an hour, given it their best shot for the millionth time, and nothing had happened. Again. Which prompted his charge to remind him of their reluctant deal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was, of course, the very same moment "Mrs. Potts" had entered the room.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"See? We're here, she's here, the goo's here –– pretty sure the word for this is synchronicity, dude!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This was probably the worst plan he'd ever allowed. He could just see it now, how everything would go wrong and it'd all be his fault. "Claudia––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Look, it'll either disappear, neutralize something, or hit the floor, right, Artie? And since it's all some sort of memory time-loop thing, nothing can really happen. Theoretically speaking at least?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Theoretically." But, that was a mighty hesitant theory the supervisor was agreeing to. Of course, his hesitation didn't matter to his charge, seeing as how she was already pouring a fair amount of goo over the woman's head –– thoroughly dousing the servant, much to his horror.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia!" It seemed the teen was never going to learn about effective neutralization, "What did I tell you about neutralizing her <em>face</em>?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That moment when your rookie makes a rookie mistake.</p>
<p>How does Mrs. Hughes fare with this new development? Will Claudia be glared to death by Artie? And why do I get the feeling that the housekeeper isn't the only servant staying up late?</p>
<p>Tune in next time to get answers to all of these questions! In any case, I hope you've enjoyed today's update and that you have a lovely day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Goo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Author's Note: </strong>Thank you for your patience with this update! It's really appreciated.</p>
<p>This chapter is definitely for any Chelsie fans in the crowd! There will be Warehouse bits, of course, but <em>definitely </em>more Chelsie notions than anything else (and a little surprise at the end as well!)</p>
<p><strong>Warning: </strong>Goofy situations are endearingly goofy and possibly out of character –– you've been warned.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was gone. The gramophone. The song that called to her night after night, the device that incessantly demanded her attention, all of it had vanished. The very thing that had brought out such foolish behaviour in herself, that cajoled her into deviating from her principles was missing and–– and what on <em>earth</em> was that?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A soft breeze had swept around her, a sheepish air brushing past. It was almost as though there were someone else in the room. But ghosts weren't real, she'd never believed in those tales. Those were the sort of stories for more impressionable people like Daisy Robinson. Not the stern housekeeper of Downton Abbey.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>So, what then, is going on here?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her eyes darted around the room, so unsure of what was happening. It felt much like before, back in her sitting room. When she'd known her things had been gone through, when she'd felt as though she were being followed. But much like before, there was no one in sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or was there?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elsie had become so paranoid about the experience, her wracked nerves leaping to the most absurd of conclusions, that she wasn't prepared for when it finally happened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman jolted, stumbling backwards as something chilling streaked down her face. The liquid –– if it could even be considered that –– had come out of nowhere, pouring itself onto her as though by magic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But magic was a tactless description for this!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The housekeeper shivered in repulsion as the mysterious substance sluggishly sank further into her clothes. Acting purely on instinct, she hastened toward the door that would lead to the outside world. She didn't have time to question a thing about the incident, not at the rate it was dripping down her clothes!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was only one thing for it: hitch up her dress, contain as much as she could, and get outside as swiftly as possible. If she succeeded in that, she could handle whatever was next in store.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mrs–– Mrs. Hughes!" The scandalised whisper rigidly trailed after her, the woman inwardly cursing at the unexpected company. It was well after midnight, why was he still awake? More importantly, why had he decided to question her <em>now </em>of all times? If he thought she was going to come to a dainty stop and discuss this incident as though it were the rotas, she might very well scream. As it was, she could only scamper toward the outdoors and pray no one else was a witness to this bewildering affair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And all this for the sake of maintaining the floors of their bloody employers!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Carson, why on earth are you awake? And at such a late hour!" Elsie demanded in no less than a hiss, chucking all sense of grace out the window. Not knowing what this horrid liquid was capable of or where it came from, she wasn't going to let it somehow destroy the house.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I could ask you the same thing!"</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"So, we know the artifact's not on her, else we would've gotten a lights show." Claudia sheepishly commented, taking in the sight of the pair scurrying out of the home. "And we found out the goo's somehow existing in both worlds. So, that's a win, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie, ever the grumbling grouch, was the embodiment of silent vexation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Hey, I didn't see you having any brilliant ideas, dude!" And when he insisted in this irate hush, "Do you think we should try to help her? Maybe dump some water on her when she's outside? Showers always help with this, I should know."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No, no, no –– we are <em>not </em>going to keep 'helping' her!" Guiding his charge firmly away from the door, "We're going to leave them both alone!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Really, Artie? Even when she looks like <em>that</em>?"</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>After hearing a horrendous excuse she hardly believed, Elsie decided she didn't have the time to interrogate him or deduce the truth. There were far more important matters to attend to. For instance, it was unfortunately possible that a trail of that mysterious goo had been following her every step. That her best attempts to save the floors were failing abysmally.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Which meant that drastic measures had to be taken to double-check the matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Carson, would you––" But, having decided it was better to ask forgiveness than permission, "Hold this." And handing him a fair portion of her dress, the woman focused on inspecting the back half of her clothes. Now that they were outside, she felt slightly better about risking a few droplets. "Do you suppose it's all here? That foul liquid, that is."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elsie couldn't see any of it on the ground and there didn't seem to be a trail in sight. But, what with it being night, she couldn't tell for sure. "Mr. Carson, do you see anything?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She turned back, confused by his lack of blustering. The daft man was a fanatic when it came to details; he could spot the silliest of things and right now they needed to spot the silliest of things.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Moreso to the point, he never wasted a breath to inform her of his opinion. Whether it was protesting maids in the dining room or defending Lady Mary's supposed honour, he always spoke his mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Therefore, what could possibly be shutting him up now?</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Kiddo, leave them alone."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But, Artie! I just gotta say, I don't see any rings." Claudia wasn't really complaining. However, she was definitely blushing at the display only a few feet away. "Isn't a virtue a big thing for this time? Not that they're really doing anything, <em>but</em>––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The senior field agent shot her another glare, "Virtue's 'a big thing' all the time, Claudia! Is there something you want to share?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you sure you want to know?" She retorted, her eyebrows past the point of arching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The supervisor could only blanch before scoffing for the umpteenth time that night, more than willing to put an end to that conversation.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mrs. Hughes," The fabric of the dress had been handed over for quite some time, something he was doing his best to ignore. It didn't help that the liquid had soaked through the cloth. Nor was he consoled by the fact that her hemline had risen a great deal throughout this experience. In short, the whole thing rendered him incapable of hearing anything but his traitorously pounding heart. "Mrs. Hughes, how did this happen?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In retrospect, her actions made sense: if this strange liquid dripped onto the gravel and became permanently enmeshed, there'd be evidence that something was afoot. Which in turn would only attract more unwanted attention toward this whole situation, possibly dragging his friend into an undesirable spotlight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If only he didn't want to–– <em>Stop. </em><em><strong>Now!</strong></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I couldn't possibly tell you, Mr. Carson." Elsie felt as stilted as her tone, the reality of the situation making itself quite clear. Here was one someone she'd grown terribly fond of, detachedly holding onto her clothes as though this were a science experiment gone wrong, nothing more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So much for her having "stolen his heart away".</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, he hadn't meant anything when he'd sung that tune. He'd only been a friend humming away his happiness, reassured she wasn't days away from dying. Still, some days she wished he had meant something more. That his happiness wasn't that of a friend, but...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Let that go.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Those thoughts hadn't crossed her mind since Mr. Crawley's car accident. They were pointless, a figment of loneliness, she was sure of it. And yet, with his continual hold on her dress, with his presence so <em>very </em>close, she couldn't help but wonder––</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Give it a rest. There's no point now. </em>Doubtlessly, he was only seconds away from refusing to help. His horrified lecture would most certainly end with the butler demanding she fix the situation on her own. Hence, "I can tell you this much, Mr. Carson: I no longer require your help with this. I've full control over my dress now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elsie had to pretend to be oblivious to the relief radiating from the man, though the reaction had stung. So, she'd been right. And, of course, this was a rather compromising position for a butler and a housekeeper to be caught in. And <em>that </em>was most likely the only thing on his mind. Propriety. His position in the house. Avoiding a ridiculous scandal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, he might've <em>tried</em> to hide his disgust!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Yes, well, that wouldn't be your style, would it?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What was that, Mrs. Hughes?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Damn –– she'd accidentally spoken that last bit aloud.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She must be more tired than she thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Nothing, Mr. Carson." And making sure to keep a good grasp on the dress that had landed her in this situation –– much to no one's surprise, the wretched liquid hadn't dried quite yet –– she stepped away from her friend. She hadn't any real sort of plan, only the desire to be left alone. "I'll leave you to take care of the door, Mr. Carson. My apologies for having asked you to unlock it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was cold tonight, even colder in the sodden outfit. But she refused to endure this next part with his judgment overlooking her every step.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>But what to do?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So distracted by formulating this new plan, she hadn't noticed the butler's absence. When Elsie did finally realise she was alone, she coolly regained her bearings. There was no reason to hope for anything different; she knew the type of man that Charles Carson was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So be it."</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Should we make sure she's okay? And did he really just leave her outside? Some friend Jeeves is." Claudia muttered, glaring at the servant as he walked past her. "Leaving Mrs. Potts like she's just another maid. They just spent an evening talking to each other! And what was that him about holding her dress like that?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I doubt 'Jeeves'," Artie really couldn't take either nickname seriously. "Has abandoned 'Mrs. Potts', Claudia."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Really, professor, I don't think you've got the right to say those kinds of things. I mean, after all," She trailed off intentionally, cocking an eyebrow in his direction as she crossed her arms. She didn't need to complete the statement –– he understood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How many times do I have to apologize for that, kiddo?" But he did get it. Her lack of trust may frustrate him from time to time, but he couldn't really blame the kid. Not after everything she's been through. "Okay. Maybe we should follow 'Jeeves' to make sure 'Mrs. Potts' is okay."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Sounds more like it! You go with Jeeves, I'll stick to Mrs. Potts!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––" She was heading out long before Artie could say anything else, a blur of enthusiasm and determination to help.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>She'd been in the process of giving up on the whole thing when the main door unexpectedly reopened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Carson?" Elsie had hardly expected the man to return, not after what had just transpired. Perhaps he'd come back to lecture her properly, nothing more. Or, perhaps she wouldn't have to do this by herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mind, she didn't know what she preferred, given his clear feelings on the matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, if she were to be perfectly honest, the housekeeper hadn't a clue as to how she was going to manage this by herself. Already, she'd unwittingly let a splatter of purple scatter itself across the ground.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Swiping a hand upward to keep from accidentally ingesting the mysterious muck, tightly holding onto her skirts, the woman did her best to regain her bearings. Whatever he had to say –– a terse lecture, a fierce disappointment in her actions, an interrogation over why she hadn't remained in bed –– she would face it calmly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I couldn't," The man's explanation was already faltering, tentative to reveal itself. Thankfully, her silence had only encouraged him. "You shouldn't have to do this alone."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I don't want you to do this alone, not if I can help it.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My, my." But there was nothing in the phrase, not really. She just didn't know what else to say. Elsie could see now he wasn't as disgusted as he acted before. She hadn't a clue as to what he really thought about the matter, but disgust was nowhere in sight. "I hadn't realised,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Realised what, exactly? That she'd misjudged her friend? That she was more thankful for his coming back than she would ever say? There were many, many things she hadn't realised. And she couldn't put a voice to any of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Right," It seemed he was as eager to change the subject as she. "What should we do now?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was an excellent question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If only she had a proper answer. Currently, the only plans running through her mind were those of the most outlandish varieties. And if they weren't outlandish, they were undoubtedly risqué!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh, what on earth are we to do?</em>
</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Didn't I already tell you we aren't gonna help them?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But, Artie! It's my fault she might get pneumonia, I wanna make sure she's okay!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mrs. Potts will be fine! The only thing we can do now is respect her right to privacy."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Wait, did you say her name unironically?" Proceeding to dig in her heels in every sense of the word, "Also, tell me how we're going to figure this out? We can't hear them, we don't know what's really going on over there, hell, we don't even know their names. What if the only way to really help them is to somehow cross over to their world?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No, no, <em>no</em>, that is <em>not</em> happening! We can still figure it out on our own, kiddo! We don't need their help. I'm sure we're close to solving the case!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A scoff of exasperation, "'We're close'? 'We're <em>close</em>'? Artie, this is a <em>huge </em>house! <em>And</em>, from what we've seen, there's nothing people are gravitating to! No possible artifacts in sight and we've been here for ages. Dude, we're light-years away from figuring it out! And how long do you think we'll be able to stay here before we're called back? 'Cause I'm pretty sure Mrs. F will be lighting up those beacons any minute now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yes, there's a lot to go through! And, yes, we're not as close as we'd hoped. We are still <em>not </em>gonna 'cross over'!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But, Artie,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Eyebrows remained obstinately furrowed, steeped in irritation, "Until we know exactly what is going on, we are <em>not </em>going to help her! We are <em>not</em> going to keep following her tonight and there will be no '<em>accidentally</em>' bumping into her tomorrow!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Guiding his charge back up the stairs and in the direction of the two rooms they were borrowing, "No, 'but's! We are gonna leave them completely alone!"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Now, for any Chelsie fans who are curious as to what happens after the Warehouse folks left for the night, I've got a little something for you. Just let me know if you're interested and I'll try to post it as a separate one-shot sometime before the next update.</p>
<p>In any case, as always, hope you enjoyed that, wishing you the best of luck, and hope you have a lovely day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Test-Run</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Author's Note: </strong>Time to start approaching the climax of the piece! Today's update includes, but is not limited to: plucky teenagers, <em>Godfather </em>references, and the passing of a note.</p>
<p>As an aside, Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson have definitely grown closer. Which'll show in their interactions from here on out, but I figured deserved a mentioning. If you didn't get a chance to check it out, "A Bucket and a Song" is the name of the piece that bridges the gap.</p>
<p><strong>Warning: </strong>The swearing will be amping up a little on the Americans side.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>I'm afraid it's time for you two to come back. You're needed at the Warehouse."</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia bit back a sigh at the sound of her real boss, Mrs. Irene Frederic, coldly continuing to instruct them over the Farnsworth. She had a feeling this would happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Of course, Mrs. Frederic. We understand." Artie always took the lead on these conversations. Normally, that suited her just fine. But the teen had become unusually invested in the case, and giving up on it wasn't her style.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you sure we've gotta go back, Mrs. F?" Claudia ignored Artie's scowl in the background, shrugging in his direction. She didn't tend to interrupt, not with conversations like these. But she'd really been hoping for some extra time, another chance to put this to rest. "I mean, of course you're sure. But, Mrs. F, can't we have just a little more time?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay. If Mrs. F didn't bite off her head in the next minute, Artie was <em>so</em> going to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>You have until tomorrow afternoon. But that is all I can give you." </em>That concession was pretty rare, considering Mrs. F tended to be really strict about time limits. And missions in general. And everything in general, if Claudia was being honest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Thank you, Mrs. Frederic." Oh, yeah, Artie was frustrated with her for butting in without any warning. He was definitely gonna be lecturing her in like .394 seconds.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, we won't let you down, Mrs. F!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>See that you don't."</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though their expressions remained determined to solve the case, the Farnsworth was snapped shut with dejection. They were past the point of running out of time; according to the woman, they needed to draw this case to a close.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay. The goo didn't work last night and we both know Mrs. F's serious when she says we need to wrap this up. I vote we try touching Mrs. Potts and 'crossing over' –– maybe the artifact is something only they can see."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And I vote for <em>never </em>doing that! How many times have I told you <em>not </em>to––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Artie!" Claudia was reaching her breaking point. Maybe it was the fact they had to be so damn careful all the time with this case. Maybe it was just their personalities clashing yet again or the because they only had a day to wrap this up. "Do we seriously have another option?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was as exhausted as her and they both knew it. The problem was, unlike the teen, his guilt never stopped weighing him down. Worse still, it was becoming painstakingly obvious that, with the little time they had left, there probably wasn't another option.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"All right." Artie withheld a weary smile, knowing the teen was shocked by his concession. "You're right."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Thank you––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But <em>I'm </em>going to be the <em>only </em>one 'crossing over'."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But, Artie, if I can get away with eating their toast––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"A careless mistake on my part––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"All I'm saying is that nothing happened. Surely––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This is <em>not </em>open for negotiation!" The agent wasn't going to risk them both getting stuck here. Not when she had more potential than he could ever offer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Seriously? Dude, how am I supposed to help you if you're on the other side? I'm probably not gonna be able to hear or even talk to you!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He wanted to point out that she would've had the same problem, but refrained. Instead, he fixated on figuring out the answer to her question. The inquiry had almost stumped him until he remembered one small detail: "We've seen people write. We can do the same."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't know about this,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie glared at her, not knowing why she was so resistant. It'd been her idea to start with, he'd only tweaked it. He wouldn't let the teen accidentally become lost to the world, not this time ––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>That's what's going on.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Here Claudia was again, in another situation where she didn't know it was really going to work out. And here he was, unwittingly threatening to abandon her if things went south. Something he'd actually done in the past, just like so many others.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Kiddo," Artie knew that she registered the change in tone. The man watched her tense up, preparing for something personal and awkward and out of the norm. "I'm not going anywhere."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh, yeah right. You're totally going over there," She gestured helplessly, giving more of her fear away. "And we don't know what'll happen even if we <em>do</em> neutralize the artifact."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Remember when we tried neutralizing Mrs. Potts?" And, yes, he was intentionally using that name "unironically". If it coaxed a small smile, it was worth it. "You said it yourself: the goo remained on both sides. It managed to exist in both worlds."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He briefly considered bringing up the fact that she'd snagged some toast from that kitchen –– a feat he really hadn't figured out the logistics behind –– when he realized one flaw in both examples. A flaw she was more than happy to point out, "But you're not goo! You're a person! What if you can't exist in both dimensions? What if, even if we find this damn artifact and neutralize it, you're still stuck on the other side?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia," He was trying to reach out, vulnerability slipping into the sound. <em>That would've been the case for you, too, kiddo.</em> "I need you to trust me on this."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Can't we test it out first? Try passing a note or something?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Passing a note'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah!" She'd thrown the thought out on a whim, but it was quickly becoming an idea she staunchly supported. "We can try passing her a note and see what happens!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Why would that make a difference? </em>If toast and goo could safely cross back-and-forth, they didn't need to pass some sort of note like they were in high school. The real test was if humans could safely cross over. But another look at Claudia's face told the portly man that, while she saw the same conundrum he did, she needed this test-run. She couldn't let him risk his life when there might be another way to solve the case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the end, it was a fairly simple decision:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"All right. We'll figure out a note to give her and see what happens."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Tubular!" Artie had a sneaking suspicion she was going overboard with her word-choice solely because he had agreed so easily. Of course, whether or not that was the truth, the subject was already being changed: "But, can we get dinner first? She's not gonna be alone for a while and there's no way I'm doing this note-passing stuff in front of Jeeves."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––" He cut off his own lecture this time, gruffly twitching with what could have been considered very, <em>very </em>faint amusement. "Okay, kiddo. Dinner first."</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Anna Bates didn't care to eavesdrop on conversations or spy on others. Unlike Barrow and O'Brien, she was satisfied with letting others keep their privacy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That didn't mean she wasn't eyeing the head of the table from time to time with subtle satisfaction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She didn't know what was going on between Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, and she didn't need to know. All she knew was that something had changed, and it looked to be for the better. Not only did the pair seem more like themselves than they had in ages, they also seemed happier than they'd ever been before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't obvious, but it was there if one took a closer look. His eyes would linger on hers, her tone couldn't help but beam in response. Little things that spoke to a happiness she could only wish for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As to her own happiness, it would have to wait for this lingering mystery to be solved. Anna was still drawn to the mystery of finding Braithwaite in that bedroom with the mussed sheets and the likes. But there had been no other clues to follow up on, nothing to investigate. The only good thing that came out of it was seeing Braithwaite finally afraid of something. The maid had always struck Anna as more sly and vindictive than most –– excluding Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien, of course. So, to see her knocked down a few pegs was an excellent start to that morning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Penny for your thoughts?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She smiled at her husband, subtly shaking her head. With prying eyes only a few plates away, there was no need to hand her musings out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thankfully, he didn't require more explanation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not now, at least.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Meanwhile, somewhere in Southern California...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mykes, I'm not gonna lie: this has oranges written all over it. Just like in <em>The Godfather.</em>"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was not going to roll her eyes. She was going to take him seriously. Okay, maybe she'd roll her eyes just a little. "<em>The Godfather</em>? Oranges? Seriously, Pete?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Problem was, Pete Lattimer didn't look to be joking, "No, seriously, I really think there's something to it. Didn't you see that jar––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Don't tell me," Oh, yeah. Myka was really struggling to believe him if she couldn't let him finish his theory. "Now you're gonna have to give me a gift I won't accept?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn't matter that his theory was being outright rejected. All that mattered now was confirming a horrifying suspicion: "'An offer you can't refuse', Myka, 'an offer you can't refuse'! Please tell me you've seen the movie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, so, what's your theory with the oranges, Pete?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Needless to say, her avoidance answered his question. "You've at least read the book though, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"A long time ag–– how did you know there was a book?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And now he was back, his confidence making his goofy victory dance almost endearing, "Knew it!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was still determined to have the final say about this, "Did you actually know there'd been a book before or after this conversation, Pete?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So, basically, my theory with the oranges is simple…"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Equally needless to say, his avoidance also answered her question.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay. She's alone. Now's as good a time as any to test out that theory."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia may have been the one to suggest this –– read: she may have been the one to demand Artie try to communicate with Mrs. Potts through notes because she wasn't letting him cross over without a test-run –– but even she was having second doubts. Chances were, Mrs. Potts would freak out if she saw a note materialize out of thin air. And while that would help them learn what they could get away with, it would probably also wipe out any chance they had of communicating with the woman.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Glancing over at Artie, she frowned at what she saw. He was boring a hole into that wall with that stare of his. The one that suggested he was either A) gonna to try to cross over on the down-low without passing any sort of note, or B) rethink and rewrite their note before deciding it would be best just to cross over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As for her own options, there really were only two.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A) She could make sure he didn't get away with changing any part of the original plan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>B) She could really make damn sure he didn't get away with changing any part of the original plan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Oh, I don't know about this one, Clauds, </em>she pretended to think the matter over, <em>It's a pretty tough call. Kinda like asking me to pick between </em>Lord of the Rings <em>or </em>Twilight. <em>I think I'm gonna have to go with Option… C) All of the damn above.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>You know, Artie could be really endearing when he wanted to be. Not that she would <em>ever </em>tell the guy that. But, he really could become so distracted by his self-sacrificing gambits. Oh, yeah, she totally knew what was running through his mind, the probabilities he was calculating. His thoughts were probably like, <em>Grumble, grumble, it'll be a catastrophic mistake to write this note. Grumble, I need to do something else before Claudia can stop me. Grumble, grumble, mega-grumble.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anyway, if she didn't do something now, he'd be the one crossing over. And since that was totally unacceptable, Claudia had no qualms about enacting Option C and taking matters into her own hands….</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>When your rookie tries to redeem her rookie mistake and winds up complicating things tenfold.</p>
<p>Will Claudia be able to successfully "cross over"? What will Artie do now that the kiddo he considers his daughter is hopping over to the "other side"? And, most important of all, will Myka ever see The Godfather?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Crossing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Author's Note: </strong>Who else is ready for the two worlds to finally meet?</p>
<p><strong>Technical Note: </strong><em><strong>When the writing looks like this,</strong></em> we are passing handwritten notes!</p>
<p><strong>Warning: </strong>Goofball-y thoughts are goofball-y. And, given the chance, Claudia can be quite the pop-culture machine. As well as quite the shipper. You'll see what I mean.</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Claudia!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it was too late. An icy wave of tingling sensations were traveling through her arm, taking over her entire body in seconds. She gasped, trying to shake off the nerve-pinching cold. It was like the ALS challenge on drugs. Better yet, standing outside in Univille during the dead of winter. Either way, she was definitely not a fan.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn't help that Mrs. Potts was leaping to her feet, looking as though she'd also been dunked in sub-zero water. The woman bit back a cry of shock, immediately taking a crap ton of steps away and looking terrified as hell. All of which wasn't gonna help them in the long term. As Claudia saw it, the less scared Mrs. Potts was, the easier it would be to explain everything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, howdy." The words were fumbled, her pitch shivering a little from crossing over. If she could avoid doing that ever again, she'd be thanking Ipthar for <em>weeks </em>to come!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ipthar aside, it looked like her fumbled entrance was ruining any chance for explanation. Mrs. Potts's eyes widened in incredulity as she took another step backwards, crossed between running like hell and staying right where she was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I really have gone insane, haven't I?" That was the tone of someone who was totally beginning to give up on herself, which was so <em>not </em>cool.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, dude!" <em>No, no, </em><em><strong>nope. </strong></em>Nobody's giving up on themselves today. Nobody's going insane. Asylums, Pysch wards, none of them were <em>ever </em>going to feature in her life again, not on her watch! "Believe me when I say you're totally not."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, now," Mrs. Potts gave a dark chuckle, the kind that Artie gave when he spent too many nights playing that depressing melody on his keyboard. Claudia never liked that chuckle, not then and definitely not now. "I find that hard to believe."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The teen repeatedly shook her head, completely against the woman giving up when they were damn close to getting answers. "You're not going crazy and I can prove it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Really now?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Absolutely." Claudia affirmed, doing her best to sound her perkiest. Perkiness may bring out the crankosaur in Artie, but it usually helped cheer everyone else up. "But, first, I'm gonna need to write a note. Do you have any paper?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, why not," Mrs. Potts muttered in exasperation, though this was less Artie-grumpiness and more Myka-disbelievingness. "I don't suppose you'll be wanting something to write with?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You better believe it!" Claudia gave another winning beam, one that finally brought out a very tiny smile from the woman. Literally, the action was the definition of imperceptible. But, hey, that was like a full-blown grin for the era. Anyway, she had a point to prove: "But, really, if you were going insane, is that what you would've gone with?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>That </em>comment brought out a muffled sound that the teen was gonna define as laughter. Definitely more repressed than normal –– Claudia always pegged the Brits as the super repressed type –– but she knew the sound. And that sound was almost as awesome as watching Mrs. Potts find some scratch paper and something to write with.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I suppose not." The older women knowingly confessed, gingerly holding out the requested items. She curiously watched on as the teen began to write out something. Claudia knew she had to be wondering what the hell was going on. But it was much appreciated that the servant wasn't interrogating her about everything just yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em><strong>See?</strong></em> Fancy old pens were really proving to be a fancy experience to work with. <em><strong>It totally worked, dude! And if you could help a girl out by picking up this pen and writing something back that'd be so helpful. I can even prompt you: try writing "Claudia, you're a genius".</strong></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, and totally random but what's your name?" Much as she loved calling her Mrs. Potts –– Angela Lansbury was <em>seriously </em>underrated and Belle had always been an inspiration so, really, this has been a mega compliment –– she did want to respect the woman.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You may call me Mrs. Hughes."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Rad! How does Mrs. H sound? Can I call you that?" Clauda's grin only widened as Mrs. Hughes continued to stare in disbelief. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I suppose 'Mrs. H's fine." The servant faintly remarked, distracted by the message being written right before her very eyes. Yeah, apparently, Artie was <em>not </em>pleased about what she'd done.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> <strong>WHY THE HELL DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET AWAY WITH THAT?</strong> </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What–– how on earth–– why––?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ignore him, Mrs. H." Claudia reassured, knowing that the guy would be supremely pissed for the next hour. "He's just upset I beat him to the punch. Oh, and the name's Donovan. Claudia Donovan."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Erm." The woman kept quiet after that. Which, in Claudia's opinion, was a pretty wise decision, all things considered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anyway, once her boss was finished with his rant, Claudia decided to chime back in and steer the conversation away from the Wrath of Artie: <em><strong>Oh and her name's actually Mrs. Hughes not Mrs. Potts!</strong></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>She could picture him growling at the casual comment and had to keep from laughing, needing to get serious. But that was so hard to do! Because, true to form, Artemis had scrawled out an immediate response that was hilarious: <em><strong>NOT FUNNY, CLAUDIA!</strong></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>And because she could see the whole darn thing so perfectly, it was really hard to keep quiet. Still, much as she wanted to keep snickering the whole thing away, the teen knew she had to get to the point. She turned back around to Mrs. H, needing a moment to think this explanation through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This is gonna be hard to explain, but," <em>Hmm… Somehow I doubt </em>Doctor Who'<em>s a thing right now. </em>"You ever hear of H.G. Wells?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Of course."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Awesome! Basically, my job's an H.G. Wells novel." Kinda. It was totally skipping over the main function of the Warehouse, but it was a decent equivalent when it came to all the sci-fi aspects of her work. Ish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I see." It seemed Mrs. Hughes needed a minute to process that, which so made sense. At least the woman wasn't declaring her insane and demanding her head be cut off –– <em>Alice in Wonderland </em>really wasn't on her list of things to experience. "I take it then that you are claiming to be a time traveler?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Basically." To say anything else would probably seriously overwhelm the woman. Except, there was more to it: "I also take care of people's weird," <em>Crap, what's a good word for artifact? Crap, crap–– got it! </em>"Weird stuff. But," <em>Ah, screw it.</em> "We call them artifacts in my line of work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia took a breath before getting back to it, "Long story short, if something's unexplainable is going on, chances are an artifact is involved. My job is just me and my team going wherever we need to go to neutralize them –– the artifacts, that is."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Stuff'? 'Artifacts'? 'Team'? '<em>Neutralize'</em>?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>So much for not breaking our Prime Directive.</em> "Yeah." Which reminded the teen: if she wanted to get anywhere with this case, it was time to start figuring out what was going on over here.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie Nielsen was pleased to say he managed to keep his emotions under tight control. Some might have disagreed with his definition, but he was of the firm belief that his reaction was rather mild all things considered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, he did shout out in fear when Claudia had begun to cross over. And, yes, he shouted again as her body rapidly faded into the ghostly shape that matched the others. She'd given this horrible gasp at the contact, but then the sound of her voice bubbled out. It was a stupid way to describe it in his opinion, but it was the best term he had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, yes, she scared the crap out of him and then some. But that nightmare hadn't pushed him into going after her, not yet. He had to remain where he was and see how this played out, even if the urge to do otherwise was growing by the minute.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was when Mrs. Potts bolted out of her chair, forcing the agent to prepare himself for the worst scenario. But his charge seemed to talk her down, getting the woman to stay still. Leave it to Claudia to connect to people of all kinds. He still wanted to strangle her for scaring him like that, making sure that was clear in all the notes he wrote. But he had to trust that she knew what she was doing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Truthfully, it looked like she was doing okay. In less than five minutes, she had Mrs. Potts easing back into the chair, a mixture of surprise and relief crossing the woman's face throughout their conversation. The teen even snagged some more paper, writing down further notes about the artifact as they came up in conversation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, you still don't stand a chance against Jeeves, kiddo." He tiredly mumbled, praying this all worked out. That he wouldn't have to watch her body fade into nothing if this dragged on too long, that they'd figure this out without having to spend more time here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, it didn't seem that luck was on their side.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"And just who are you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh," <em>Yikes. </em>Claudia hadn't anticipated meeting Jeeves so soon. Honestly, she figured no one else would be barging in at the last minute –– it was definitely way past everyone's bedtime, least of all the intimidating butler of Downton Abbey.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Carson," <em>So that's his name! </em>Mrs. Hughes was stepping in, gesturing for the butler to shut the door behind him. "Miss Donovan is related to the events of the last few days."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is she now?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah." It seemed coming clean about the neutralizer spill to Mrs. Hughes had been a smart move, the confession convincing the woman to believe her story. Now it was just a matter of convincing Carson here she was on their side. "Sorry about last night, by the way."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Last night'?" He'd been grimacing when she'd first started speaking, probably appalled by her accent. But now he looked to be super distracted by something she said before returning back to the conversation. "<em>That </em>was you?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia nervously chuckled for a second, wondering what exactly she was being blamed for. She could only hope it was the neutralizer spill and not something else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Believe me when I say it's a long story." Somehow, as open-minded as these two apparently were, Claudia didn't think they were gonna understand the whole purpose of the Warehouse. At least, not the whole <em>you guys are technically not really here but, like, I'm technically not really here because this is all a construct of a weird artifact that even Artie doesn't fully understand, so... yeah. How about them Cubs?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luckily, Mrs. H looked to be handling everything pretty well. She probably needed counseling for everything –– if they even did counseling back in these days –– but she looked way more convinced now than she did ten minutes ago. Which gave the pair a chance to narrow down the potential artifacts, something Claudia was totally stoked about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Speaking of, according to the housekeeper, an old record that kept calling to her in and day out. Every time she heard it, she felt it went against her principles and had to be wrong. But she kept hearing the song –– a pattern that <em>reeked </em>of artifact-usage. Go figure that was the moment when Jeeves–– Mr. Carson, that is, had shown up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And now they were here, with her trying to figure out the hell to explain herself to the really intimidating butler.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm sure it is." Jeev–– <em>Carson, Clauds, it's Carson! </em>firmly stared her down and the teen had to wonder if he was somehow related to Artie. Maybe that his family wound up in England at some point? Also, total side note, but when had the butler stepped in front of Mrs. H and become all protective?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Seriously, focus! </em>"Look, Mr. C," She didn't really know where she was going with this, that was for sure. "Fun as it is to be glared to death, I'd like to focus on saving Mrs. H before something else happens, 'kay?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Mr. C'?" Oh, yeah, he was totally somehow related to Artie if that shock was anything to go by. He even did that delayed reaction thing, where the whole statement finally caught up to him and his focus became laser-like, "What do you mean, 'saving Mrs. Hughes'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yes, Miss Donovan," Oops. Probably should've mentioned that part sooner. "What exactly do you mean by that?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well," <em>Ugh,</em> Artie was ten times better at explaining this stuff. He could probably even figure out the historical event that triggered the damn thing, like he always did. <em>Just gotta give it your best shot, Donovan. </em>"You've been hearing that song ever since you saw the record, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's right."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And that was a while ago ago, right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's also correct." "Just where are you going with this, Miss Donovan?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, Mrs. H, Mr. C," <em>Where to start? </em>"I know it's gonna be hard to believe, but that record is causing a lot of problems at Downton, like an H.G. Wells invention gone wrong."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'H.G. Wells'––?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, she's an interesting person."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'She'?" "What do you mean, 'she'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Another story for another day, Mrs. H, Mr. C.," <em>Yeah, definitely not screwing things up for the millionth time. </em>She wasn't supposed to give more information anyway than necessary. "Anyway, super long story short, the record's been working its magic for a while now. It could be something that's affecting everyone, it could be just something that happens for anyone who gets in contact with the record, but something has been going on. My guess, Mrs. H, is that it relates to your questions from before."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before the butler interrupted them, the housekeeper had been in the middle of making a startling confession. Much to Claudia's concern, Mrs. Hughes admitted she had been wondering what the point of everything was. Why it was necessary to keep going when all she felt on a daily basis was a "deadening grief".</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You mean, those thoughts came about because of this record?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia firmly nodded, "And since you seem to be the only one thinking about that stuff, I'm guessing it's only really affecting you." Before either servant had a chance to voice their worries, "But don't worry because I know how we can stop it, <em>all </em>of it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"How?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The teen resisted the urge to jokingly say, "By constructing a rudimentary lathe." It was a struggle, but she knew the more pop culture references she threw at them, the more confused they would become.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, "I'm gonna need to see that record of yours."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Carson, if I'm not mistaken," <em>Oooh</em>, was she hearing the start of a tease? And possibly a reference to a previous conversation? Where was the popcorn when you needed it? Did they even have popcorn by this point? "You're the only one who knows the answer to that."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia resolved to ask Artie about the invention of popcorn only after they solved this mystery and were both back in the same dimension. She also resolved to find popcorn for them to eat together because she wouldn't be stuck here forever. She would be coming back and there would be nothing to freak out about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I do indeed." Ugh, he was sounding hesitant about saying anything else. Which was sweet because he was probably worried about Mrs. H, but if he withheld this information they wouldn't be able to save the day. And then she wouldn't be able to return safe and sound. So, she was gonna need him to give up the mother-hen act.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude," She had only gotten one word out before it was clear it was better to let Mrs. H take point on this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Carson," The woman quietly repeated, resting a hand on his arm and gently coaxing him to turn around, "Charles,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>OH MY GOODNESS, THEY'RE ON A FIRST-NAME BASIS. </em>Claudia's been watching this place long enough to know that was <em>not </em>a thing unless you were basically married. Especially for servants. So, like, if she could have gotten away with squeeing she totally would've. As it stood, she really wanted to know where Artie was in the room so she could turn around and tell him, <em>SEE? IT'S TOTALLY POSSIBLE TO BE IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE YOU WORK WITH. NOW GO AND TELL DR. CALDER EVERYTHING.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Mrs. Hughes continued to speak, oblivious to Claudia's internal monologue, "I know you may not understand any of it –– heaven knows I don't think I ever will. But, whether or not we understand, do you not suppose there's a point in listening to her? I mean, what real harm is there if we give her plan a chance?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And when he remained silent, "Charles, I won't press you. But if this really is an opportunity to let go of that song," Her disdain for the piece and the pain it'd caused her was so clear it hurt, "Then I have to take that opportunity."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia looked at Mrs. H.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then she looked at Mr. C.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then she looked back at Mrs. H because no one was giving anything away in their facial features. It was like a game of tennis but the players were staring each other down and the only reason your head went back and forth was because you just wanted <em>something </em>to happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Okay, but who's gonna speak up? Because if I've gotta do it, I will––</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I know." The butler sighed, a tired smile appearing. One that didn't last as he continued, "It's just, what'll happen when you cross its path again? What if something happens this time?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Dude, seriously––</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Nevertheless," He was extending his hand before Claudia could speak up, reaching out to his colleague. Always the hopeful romantic, the teen couldn't help but beam at the sight, hoping for the best. "I know what this means to you. I know what a difference this might make."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So, you'll tell us where it is?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This next smile of his was less tired. Probably stronger because they were now officially holding hands –– and, seriously, this was one of the cutest things she'd seen in days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"No." Mr. Carson firmly informed her, his smile growing as Mrs. Hughes looked at him like he was crazy. "I'll show you."</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>OOOOH, I see how it is. Trying to rib Mrs. H, eh?</em> Well, he could rib all he wanted because the teen was totally living for this adorable scene. Now that the older woman was giving him a stellar stare in return as she muttered something about his "cheek" –– <em>what a frickin' fun word! </em>–– Claudia knew everything was gonna work out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, at least, she hoped it would work out. With their track record at the Warehouse, something was probably gonna go wrong. But the case should work out now that it was beginning to come together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Shall we then?" He was officially offering his arm for Mrs. H to hold. Judging from her hesitation, the woman wasn't used to that kind of PDA. But she eventually accepted the gesture, trying to not blush but kinda failing with that. But it was all good in Claudia's opinion because she was here for this adorableness. Certain people could take notes on this cuteness––</p>
<p>
  <em>Damn it! Forgot about Artie for a sec.</em>
</p>
<p>Quickly writing out a note, she took care of mentioning the priorities: they were gonna go follow the butler and find that record, Mr. C and Mrs. H made the cutest couple, and he should definitely take notes when it comes to that cuteness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His response?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> <strong>CLAUDIA!</strong> </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is everything all right?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah," The teen said with a smirk, glancing in the direction of the furiously scribbling pen. "We can hit the road now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And just who is that?" Mr. C was trying get only Mrs. H to hear him but it totally didn't work. Still, Claudia didn't need to give that information away –– she liked keeping the butler on his toes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I find it's best <em>not</em> to question it, Mr. Carson."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Holding back a snort and a pointed explanation, the teen was content to snag another piece of scratch paper and a spare pen for the road. One that happened, she gestured to the couple, telling them it was time to start skedaddling on out. The sooner they neutralized that artifact, the happier she would be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except, it wouldn't be her if she had a little fun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Turning around with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, "C'mon, Jeeves, Mrs. Potts –– let's get the heck outta Dodge."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Where–– what on earth––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What did I say about not questioning it, Charlie?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you enjoyed that! Whatever the case may be, I wish you the best of luck and hope you have a lovely day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Knock, Knock</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope everyone's doing all right!</p>
<p>Also, for anyone who responded to and/or was interested in "A Bucket and a Song", please know that I've definitely kept it in mind, it'll just take a little longer than I expected.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Anna Bates were to describe her temperament, she would possibly describe herself as a fairly level-headed individual. She wasn't given to flights of fancy. She didn't pretend to sway at the sight of something strange, and she didn't tend to back away from a challenge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This, however.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Furtively watching this scene, having stumbled on it by mistake, was proving to be… fascinating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So, how long have you two been together?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Needless to say, that question reeked of impertinence. It didn't help that the girl in question had the queerest American accent Anna had ever heard. And her hair, not to mention her clothes! Anna had never seen such a bright streak of purple in red hair, and she couldn't even begin to describe the attire. The girl was a type of character the blonde couldn't even begin to understand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But then the question fully caught up to the woman. And while she was all for respecting the privacy of the housekeeper and the butler, she was curious. Had their relationship changed within the last day or had it been this way for much longer? It didn't help that the pair in question were currently fluctuating between sputtering and blushing –– unused to such a line of questioning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oooh, too soon to ask?" That was more of a quip than it was a question, filled with a rambunctious sort of cheek. "No worries! Just curious."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My, my. You're certainly a child of the 21st century," Mrs. Hughes couldn't have possibly whispered that under her breath. "That much we do know."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Actually, I was born in 1991 so I'm a 90s baby through and through,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I would have never guessed." "'1991'? '90s baby'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Didn't you guys say you were gonna stop questioning me about this stuff?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right. If this wasn't a dream, she didn't want to know.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>... Why exactly had she wandered out amongst the corridors again?</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"Kiddo," He had no idea what was being said on the other side, but he knew Claudia was causing trouble. "What are you up to?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie had been proud of the fact that she'd somehow gotten Jeeves to follow her lead. And, yes, Claudia had been willing to share that it was Mrs. Hughes rather than Mrs. Potts, but she adamantly withheld the name of the butler. And, it was also true he'd given up on getting an answer to that mystery.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Instead, he warily followed the group up the stairs. When she'd outlined their plan in Mrs. Hughes's office, he couldn't help but wonder if they were missing something. There were layers to this case, linings even. Every time they tried to strip apart a layer and test a theory, it only revealed how little they knew. Which had him wondering if a record was really the only artifact in play.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The entrance to the attic came into sight, distracting him. Claudia was telling her companions to stop, quickly using her jeans as support to scribble something out and turning around –– holding out the note so he could see it from any angle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> <strong>Totally forgot goo and gloves! Stay with them, brb</strong> </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Brb'? Seriously?" And, no, the portly agent was not going to admit that he'd become so caught up in following them he'd forgotten about needing goo in the first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hastily whipping out a fresh pair of familiar purple gloves from his bag, having meant to put them on much earlier, he stole a glance at Mrs. Hughes. While she seemed okay now, he wasn't taking any chances –– hence, why he was scanning her for any signs of "artifact shenanigans", as a certain someone liked to call it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman did look to be okay ever since last night, something that only continued to improve. There was a residual grayness to her parlor that had him concerned. But the closer they got to the attic, the better she looked. Nothing too obvious, Claudia definitely didn't catch it, but something was going on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Problem was, he couldn't tell if this was good or bad. The artifact definitely had an impact on the woman, but people normally got worse the longer an artifact was active. That was why he was wondering if it would be best to go on ahead and investigate the attic. See if the artifact was in clear sight, hold onto it for himself, and make sure she didn't get caught up in its inducing power.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was risky to leave the pair alone. Leaving anyone unsupervised was always a gamble when artifacts were involved. And he really couldn't say what, if anything, the artifact could make her do. But he would rather ensure it was safely out of the way than risk something worse –– say, for instance, Mrs. Hughes getting a hold of the record and revealing what the thing's true power was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Besides, risky as this was, Artie had a niggling suspicion that Jeeves –– seriously, he needed a better name for the butler; his real name, for starters –– wouldn't let anything happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, more apparent than that was the gut instinct that Mrs. Hughes was far stronger than she looked.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>"If you even <em>think </em>of boxing me up," Needless to say, an older conversation had snaked back into her thoughts. One that greeted her soon after he'd interrupted Miss Donovan's peculiar entrance.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I wouldn't dare." Charles quickly reassured her, meaning it. "It's just, I'm worried, Elsie."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I know." The sharpness eased off, her gaze softening. "Heaven knows we should be. 'Artifacts'? 'Time travel'? I'd normally peg this all as an elaborate prank courtesy of Barrow or O'Brien, but,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took another step closer, gathering up her hesitation. "But?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well," She sent him that worried look that'd taken hold of her for days now. But there was a small difference this time, one he couldn't quite grasp. "I doubt they've the imagination for it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That burgeoning smile of hers, that pale line of mirth, expanded as a snort escaped him. The surprising response only continued to set them off, the most dignified members of the house –– excluding the Dowager Countess, of course –– sent off into further titters, chuckles and snorts.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Meanwhile, in Southern California….</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"MYKES, WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT THE ORANGES?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A maelstrom fiercely stretched out around the pair, the café's windows shattering at the force. Jagged pieces of glass slammed into the floor, the wind screeching at the agents as it shoved them toward the ground.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What was the cause of this, you may ask?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A jar of preserved oranges. One sealed rather tight. More than a century old, it quietly rested on the café's sole countertop, seemingly oblivious to the destruction now clawing away at the establishment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As for the owner?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was currently in the process of opening the jar –– an act that had never been attempted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"NOW IS <em>NOT </em>THE TIME, PETE!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Suffice it to say, they didn't call it the Orange County for nothing.</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia had heard the laughing couple long before she saw them, brightening up as she approached. Laughter was exactly what they needed, and she hoped her return wouldn't ruin the moment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, when she realized they'd probably be super embarrassed about being caught laughing in the first place, she decided to announce herself way in advance: "Okay, I'm back! Who's ready to kick some artifact butt?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The laughter stopped at once, but apparently they couldn't hold their amusement because it started up at her word choice. Which led to her rolling her eyes, dutifully explaining over the renewed mirth, "Believe me when I say I've been keeping this pretty PG just for you guys."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And we thank you for that. It's only that, well,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You can't take it seriously, can you?" Lucky for them, Claudia knew the whole thing was a pretty big part of her charm. Besides, Carson was doing a great job of looking super scandalized, a job that normally fell to Artie but–– <em>focus, Donovan. She's about to start talking again.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Not exactly, no."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh-huh. At least you're honest." She made sure her eyes showed how unruffled she was, how she was more than happy to keep teasing them, "I think it's time to just remove the PG rating altogether,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, I doubt that's necessary," "Just what is 'PG'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Seriously, I'm just gonna have to whip up a translator for you guys," The teen said with a shake of her head. "The good news is you'd be light-years ahead of everyone else. The bad news is, of course, we might actually go through <em>BTTF II </em>for real––actually, lemme just stop the translator idea right there. Definitely don't need that in our lives, am I right or am I right? I mean, horrible alternate universes aside, the whole plot was so out-of-whack it needed to be explained halfway through the film and, yeah, I've heard you can skip straight to the third and don't even need to watch the second. In fact..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm afraid we'll have to take your word for it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now it was the American's teen to try to keep a straight face before she gave into laughter, "Yeah, sorry about the pop culture references. I've been trying to curb them because it's just not fun when Artie's not around."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Artie?" Mrs. H queried, "Is the person who you've been writing to?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah. Artie's," '<em>Other than Joshua? </em><em>The only family I got'–– yeesh, a little too dramatic, don'tcha think? How about 'the reason I'm not in a psych ward, even though he was, technically, the cause of it'–– oh, give it up, Clauds. </em>"Artie's like my dad."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia wanted to stop the backstory there. But she'd made the mistake of looking up and seeing a familiar, if not <em>familial</em>, concern reflected back at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One that she might never see again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah, so, my parents died in a car accident. And then I lost my brother for a little while. But then I found Artie," <em>If by finding, I mean that I tracked him down because I knew he had answers when it came to Joshua's disappearance. </em>"That's when we found Joshua and got him back. Now I get to work at the Warehouse with Artie. Except we had to come back here and solve this case because solving it has seriously been <em>way </em>overdue. But then we were running out of time. And <em>then</em> he was gonna cross over to talk to you guys, but I couldn't let him do that, I had beat him to the punch and now,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>And now I don't know if I'll actually see him again.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And the last image she had was him reaching out as though he could pull her away from it all. Gaping as though he'd been the one drenched in ice, as though he was the one risking his life with this stupid stunt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yeah, she totally didn't think this one through. Because even if this record is the real deal, that didn't guarantee she would be able to just hop back to the other side. It didn't mean she'd actually be sent back to her dimension and get to see any of her family again –– Artie, Myka, Pete, Mrs. F and, yeah, even Leena.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Warmth kicked her brain back to life, the young woman grasping at the air as shuddering breaths overtook her. Her can of goo had been set to the side and–– and she was coaxed into a hug. And it was a real hug. Not the stupid kind where the person was like <em>so, we're socially obligated to do this, let's just get it over with. </em>But the real kind, the kind Myka was good at. The kind Artie could do when he finally dropped the grumpy act, the kind that Joshua was always so good at.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When her brain finally caught up to the act, her arms tightened in response. Feigned perkiness gave way to uncertain grief. The shudders, the tears that longed for resolution, they all raced back into focus despite her best intentions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"There, now," She was supposed to be reassuring them, not the other way around. But Claudia didn't have any real complaints. "You've brought everything we need to neutralise this artefact. We're almost there now and, whatever happens next, we won't be giving up."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Thank you, Mrs. H–– Hughes," She realized that she'd become a sobbing mess in less than twenty seconds. "I'm sorry for messing up your dress again."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The American could hear the woman smile and it was one of the sweetest sounds she'd heard all day. It probably topped the servant's teasing, "I'd take this over that 'goo' any day."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia chuckled sheepishly, her fears subsiding at the humor. And when she was ready to keep going, she nodded to herself –– gently taking a step back. Luckily, as a quick scan revealed, the servant's outfit wasn't a total mess. It just wasn't quite as nice as it'd been about ten minutes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay," Sniffling back a few traitorous tears, the Warehouse worker reached into her jean's back pocket and procured two extra sets of purple gloves. "So, this next is gonna be a little trippy. But it'll all be <em>so much</em>easier if you just put these on now."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She knew they had questions. Honestly, if the roles were reversed, she might've pitched a fit by this point –– demanding to know what was really going down. But she'd gotten lucky once again: the pair quietly accepted the gloves and dutifully listened to her instructions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Cool." <em>Now where the hell is Artie? </em>"Artie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The American turned around to observe the space, hoping for some sort of sign. It was easy enough to write him a note, but her heart needed some sort of confirmation he was still here. That he was still okay.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Artie? You there?" <em>Because, if you're not here, I swear to God I'll be spending the rest of my life fixing this and getting you back. Or, really, getting me back. Because I'm <strong>not </strong>going to be stuck here, do you hear me?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Three heads whipped around at the sound of a knock. Someone rapped once more against the door leading to the attic, but there didn't seem to be anyone there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Knock, knock,'" Claudia snarked to herself as her brain caught up, rolling her eyes with a smile and pushing away the stupid amount of relief she felt at his response. "Very funny, Artie."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And grandly turning back to the perturbed couple, doing her best to bounce back and get down to business, "You guys ready to have some fun?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Okay, that was the last cliff-hanger, I promise!</p>
<p>Hope you enjoyed that, hope you're doing well and that you have a lovely day! 'Till next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Linings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What a time to be alive! Thank you so very, very much for your patience –– this last month has been quite the roller coaster.</p>
<p>And, now, the title chapter! Today we've got strands of cobalt, a genius in the making, babbling butlers, swooning Americans, and more….</p>
<p>Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Artie Nielsen, you're an idiot.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't the first time he'd thought that, let alone the first time this week.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Didn't take away the truth that, in this case, it was unfortunately true.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude, chill! She's got this under control!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Under control'?" He whipped around to his charge, his attitude far beyond aggravated. "'Under control'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If by "under control", Claudia was implying that they were all making a colossal mistake then, yes, Mrs. Hughes had <em>everything </em>under control. She had everything well in hand with that glow of hers! Of course, "glow" was a cute description for the term; and, no, he wasn't talking about the original definition. There was nothing shrewd about a woman and a gramophone becoming encapsulated in a sphere of violet, strands of cobalt flickering like electricity as she kept a hand on the instrument.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Donovan," Her accent was quite lyrical by this point, something that had to have come with having a hand on the gramophone. "Do you not suppose you ought to trust me by now?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Fifteen Minutes Prior</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Claudia Donovan, you unequivocally </em>
  <em>
    <strong>rock.</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Guys!" She was a genius, truly. She'd gone ahead of those British cutie patooties, warning them to let her investigate the room first. And investigate she did! Artie totally demonstrated he was way ahead of them –– who else could have knocked on the door a sec ago? –– but it was she who had found the record all by herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Guys, I think I've got something!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carefully lifting the album cover out from its hiding place revealed a record. Was it <em>the </em>record? Probably. All the other records had been nearby the still-covered gramophone, but this one was moved out of sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Well, we won't know until they see it, now will we?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Are you sure?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You tell me." <em>I seriously hope so.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia really did have to fight the urge to toss it over to Mr. Carson, not wanting to give the poor guy a heart attack. Instead, the young woman carefully handed the object over to the curious pair –– trading the record for that can of goo they willingly carried up the stairs for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That's it." Mrs. Hughes acknowledged right away, not even looking at the album cover. 'Course, it was just a blank cover. There was nothing special to indicate the songs on the record. Anyway, the American nodded at the confirmation, glancing at the goo as she contemplated the best way to handle this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Ah, why the hell not?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Care to do the honors?" Claudia held out the can to the housekeeper, nodding encouragingly as Mrs. Hughes hesitantly took hold. "Artie would kill me if I let you neutralize it, but I don't see why we can't both hold the goo."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't know––"</p>
<p>"Ah, c'mon, Mrs. H," She sheepishly smiled in the direction of Mr. Carson, ignoring his growing displeasure. "All that normally happens is a lights show. Honestly, it's kinda cool to experience."</p>
<p>"'Normally'?" "Well, if you know what you're doing."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia's smile eased as a familiar weight was shared. She ignored the frantic tapping on the floor behind her, shaking her head at Artie's unspoken presence. Yeah, this was a risk. But if this thing had been haunting the servant for what felt like an eternity, didn't she have a right to end this herself?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Elsie––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Charles," The woman may have matched his concerned tone, but her playful smile told the truth. "Would you like to hold onto the bucket, too?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'd rather hold you."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His grumble was off-the-collar, improvised, it had to be. It was one of those <em>I'm gonna really quietly say the first thing that comes to mind and let it sneak off into silence. </em>But Mrs. H was a housekeeper and Claudia had spent way too much time with Artie these days. In other words?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They caught every word.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In other, <em>other </em>words?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>JEEVES! I DON'T THINK YOU REALIZED YOU SAID THAT ONE ALOUD. OH MY GOD, YEAH, YOU IF YOUR FACE IS ANYTHING TO GO BY, YOU'RE KICKING YOURSELF –– WHAT A MOOD!</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Beg pardon,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jeeves was starting to babble and Mrs. Potts was gaping at the unintentional innuendo and Claudia seriously wished she had some damn popcorn because this was <em>gold</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Thirteen Minutes Prior</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Charles Carson, why? Why did you say that? Why </em>
  <em>
    <strong>on earth </strong>
  </em>
  <em>did you say that?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What I meant was–– erm––" Nothing was coming to mind. Absolutely nothing. And whatever did come to mind was absolute tosh, which would only make an absolute fool of himself. Therefore although the correct phrase would be <em>absolutely nothing of import was coming to mind </em>he'd stick to <em>absolutely nothing</em>. "Right."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As it happened, Elsie Hughes could always find her footing eons before he.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Charles," She repeated, a comforting hand accentuating the soothing touch that was her voice. "It's all right."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Was it, though? Was it truly all right?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What they shared only last night felt like a burgeoning promise, a tantalising beginning. He didn't dare to jeopardise such a start by tactlessly throwing it all away now. Not with what had to be a terribly crass statement. Even if it was a mistake, a stupid slip of the tongue, he certainly felt rather a fool.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She had to have seen his worry sketched out all over his face. For she was now leaving Miss Donovan to her own devices, both hands reaching out to grasp his. And though he was reluctant to look at her, look at her and concede to what was an appalling truth, his gaze found their way back to reality.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Really."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And it turned out, reality was kind. Reality was a hopeful curve of lips, reality was a fond gaze that spelled out the truth:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>How could I possibly be offended, you daft man?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But most importantly of all, reality was a pair of fond seas. Seas that accompanied those hopeful lips, that beautiful fondness reaching out to embrace his trust and everything that came with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time he realised they were not alone, that this reassuring kiss was witnessed by another, Miss Donovan was past the point of swooning. Charles wanted to break apart at the jarring realisation, but Elsie had somehow inveigled him into remaining right there and carrying on –– <em>not</em> that he was truly against the idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Ten-and-a-Half Minutes Prior</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Elsie Hughes, for once in your life, </em><em><strong>live</strong></em> <em>a little.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>A voice that sounded suspiciously like the cook of Downton reverberated around her thoughts as the blissful kiss deepened. Propriety dictated they pull themselves apart the moment they remembered Miss Donovan, but propriety could go sod itself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Honestly, if the last minute hadn't proved her point –– her point being that it was perfectly acceptable for him to want to hold her and the likes –– nothing would. As it stood, she was thoroughly convinced on the matter. After all, this embrace of theirs was so delightfully distracting she'd almost forgotten the reason why they were here in the first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That is, until Miss Donovan swooned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After that, the whole bet was off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"My," She couldn't even manage the full phrase, unable to focus with Charles holding onto her so tenderly. The ensuing warmth that trailed around her, the lack of distance between them, it was all wonderfully distracting. And this time, their embrace held none of the pain from last night. There were no tears, no prayers for a respite from life. Not here, not now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okay, I know you don't want comments from the peanut gallery, but that was <em>so </em>cute!" Elsie could've sworn her cheeks were on fire from all the blushing. "Actually, now that you're over there, you mind if I just go for it? I get the feeling that Artie'll kill me if I let you help with this one."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a firm tapping on the floor, something that resembled an adamant <em>Obviously! </em>if the housekeeper had to guess. She scowled at the sound, trying to detect where it came from so she could argue her case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>However, before she had a chance to say anything else, "I think that would be for the best, Miss Donovan, yes."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elsie glared up at Charles, not pleased with his speaking on her behalf. She preferred to speak for herself, especially in matters such as these.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alas, Miss Donovan paid them no mind after that. Quick as she could, the American dipped the record into the neutralizer and held the can out as far as she could. Elsie watched as the record slid into the goopy liquid, following Claudia's lead and tightly shutting her eyes close. In the darkness of her mind, the housekeeper waited and waited and waited for the truth...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Nine Minutes Prior</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What the hell?" Picking up the record out of the can, Claudia Donovan cataloged the two most important details:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing had happened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing was continuing to happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Does that even make sense? Grammatically speaking, shouldn't it be–– urgh, I'm not Myka and I really </em>
  <em>need to focus!</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Artie," Maybe her invisible mentor would have the answer. Maybe she wasn't screwing it up for the umpteenth time. Okay, probably not. Seriously, this was barely her third case and the third time was <em>not </em>the charm!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whirling around, panic began to seep in as desperation finally took over, "Artie, I swear to God, if you can hear me––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ALS Bucket Challenge was commencing. ALS 2.0, this time. That was the only explanation for that horrible energy shocking her out of the blue. That had to be why she was feeling like ice was being dumped on her for a second time that night. ALS 2.0 was starting up for some stupid reason and nothing was still happening and––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Kiddo," Artie sounded winded but <em>holy crap he's actually here</em>. He sounded taken aback by the transition, <em>but OMFG he's ACTUALLY here. </em>He was totally shivering, stumbling backwards, shaking off chills even as he reached out to hug her, but all she could think was that <em><strong>he didn't leave me.</strong></em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Claudia dove straight into the arms of the only father figure she's ever had, ignoring any and every question she had. She only took in the fact that he was seriously here in the flesh and she didn't have to figure this out on her own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The can of neutralizer shook from the movement, spilling a little. In fact, she'd would swear for years to come that Mr. C had winced at the movement, irritated by the impending mess. But for the first time in days she didn't give a damn about any of that. All she cared about was hugging the hell out of the guy she'd come to see as her dad, her panic bolting off into the distance and <em>finally</em> leaving her alone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Breathe, kiddo." So, maybe she wasn't entirely okay even with Artie here. Maybe they were both kinda screwed because they were <em>both</em> on the other side. But he was here and it was <em><strong>so</strong></em> damn selfish to think this but she was relieved she wasn't alone. More importantly, that he hadn't abandoned her. "Breathe. I'm right here. I'm not leaving you, Claudia."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was probably the fact that he used her name that brought her back, shuddering breaths finally evening out for a second time that night. Yeah, this hug was 78.333% why she could shake off the residual ice from that transference and come back to reality.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stayed like that for as long as she could drag it out, her reeling in his comforting presence and him just reeling from what had to be an accident. And if she could've stayed right there, she would've.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If only they weren't running out of solutions. And time. But, more importantly, solutions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"So, run it by me: what do we know?" Artie moved to release her, but the girl held on –– needing all the time she could get. Mr. Grumposaur may be used to getting right back to business, but Claudia needed another minute.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well, there's really not a lot." <em>Breathe. It's gonna work out now. It has to.</em> "I tried to neutralize it to stop anything from happening, but nothing worked." The teen paused, trying to think of anything else. "And that's when you came in –– how did that happen by the way?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His determination to reveal nothing was so classic Artie she almost squealed. It was honestly endearing how her father figure scowled at her before doing his best not to give anything away, displeased more with himself than anyone else. She was so playing with fire asking him that, but playing with fire was what she lived for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"You tripped, didn't you?" Claudia teased, relieved to have this chance to mess with him again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I did <em>not </em>trip." The rest of his statement was released in a mishmosh of irate words, another classic Artie move. <em>See, Jeeves, you could totally be taking notes on the art of grumbling right about now. Actually, nah, you're totally still holding onto Mrs. Potts and keeping her as far away as possible. And seeing as how we don't know what's going on, that's probably for the best. So, Imma let you get back to that and focus on this.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Awww, it's okay, gramps," The teen patted him on the arm, her grin accentuating the playful sarcasm, "We all have those days where we trip into another dimension."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Ah, this was so <em>sweet. </em>Like, exactly what she needed to figure everything out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Okey-dokey, then. How 'bout we get down to business?" It was with a tinge of regret that she stepped out of the hug, focusing on the scene in front of her. "Also, why didn't it work if all we had to do is neutralize it? Artie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd gone all silent on her. And while that translated as he was in deep thought about something, probably a minute from solving the case, her anxiety was kicking back in. Because how exactly were they going to solve this if their normal tactic wasn't doing a damn thing? They wouldn't be able to shove the record into a bag –– it was too big for that –– so using the goo had been the next best thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But how could it be the next best thing if it wasn't doing its job?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Of course! But then how," <em>And he's off, </em>Claudia thought to herself with an exasperated eyeroll. Her supervisor had nailed the art of mumbling for years. As for the art of explaining himself? Yeah, that was gonna take him another decade or two to master. "Oh, <em>duh</em>! But..."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is he normally like this?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The American teen brightly turned around to the couple, back to her perky self, "Yup!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And will we be receiving an explanation or––?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, Artie'll get there in the end!" <em>Eventually….</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Six-and-a-Third Minutes Prior</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once she pulled away from Charles, Elsie Hughes had expected for that blessed contentment to fade into the background. When it hadn't, when nothing had changed, she'd found herself terribly distracted. She wasn't the type to lose herself in such frivolous emotions, to become dewy-eyed and the likes, and yet here she was doing just that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except there was more to it than that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Seconds after Miss Donovan's well-meaning excitement pulled them apart, Elsie found herself needing to look elsewhere. She'd stepped back, tried to conjure up an image of professionalism, and found her eyes drawn to the gramophone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An image flashed through the darkness of the attic, one of the Great Hall. Two figures twirled through the dust, a translucent slip of a memory that wasn't hers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Please don't be offended if I preach to you awhile.</em></p>
<p>
  <em>Tears are out of place in eyes that were meant to smile."</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That old plan came back. But what right did she have to suggest such a thing? And why did that idea now seem so perfect, so tantalising? Was she only falling further prey to whatever this horrid artefact did? Did she really have little strength in this particular instance?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For that matter, when had that mysterious American appeared? She had to have been much more distracted than she realised, considering the older gentleman had appeared practically out of thin air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is he normally like this?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Miss Donovan seemed close to tears even as she cheerfully turned back to them, "Yup!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Right then. </em>"And will we be receiving an explanation or––?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, Artie'll get there in the end!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Judging from the American's tone, Miss Donovan was only uncertain of one thing: how long it would take Mr. Donovan to reach the right solution.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As it happened, the housekeeper was thoroughly convinced she might have already found the answer. Only, was it truly the correct answer? Or was this the influence of that artefact?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Elsie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, she couldn't lie to Charles. Not now and certainly not about this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you not suppose," It was something she ought to have been fighting with every fibre of her being. Heaven only knows how often she battled that wish, how much pain the idea had brought her. She'd gone so far as to start up the record, only to put an end to that plan in seconds. Why, now, did playing it seem to be the only solution? "Do you not suppose this all might end if we merely play the thing?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"What?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Elsie didn't have the time to explain anything to Charles. Not when both Miss and Mr. Donovan were finishing up whatever one-sided discussion had commenced.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Don't tell me," The teenager's voice came back into focus, attracting everyone's attention. "It's a bifurcated artifact, isn't it?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I really think so, kiddo."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Would someone be so kind as to explain what is going on? What's a 'bifurcated artifact'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Much as I suspect you, of all people, would get a kick out of Artie's Warehouse lesson," Elsie briefly smiled at Miss Donovan's cheeky words, her eyes fixed to the gramophone still shrouded in canvas. "The short and sweet of it is that a bifurcated artifact is basically an artifact that has two parts of it. In this case, the two parts are the––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"The gramophone and the record." Mr. Donovan tersely cut in, "And I can only guess that when the two are separated, the effects are… disastrous to say the least."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elsie nodded, not needing the man to elaborate. Nevertheless, she did have one question for the peculiar pair: "Then, why did it not work when I first played the song?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If it were only necessary was for the two objects to be reunited, this matter should have been long since resolved. Of course, that begged the question <em>why did they need to be neutralised in the first place? </em>However, Elsie suspected that asking that question would provide an unnecessarily cryptic response that would only result in a headache. So, she stuck to her original question and left it at that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"That I'm not sure about," He admitted with more than a hint of frustration, "There's probably some sort of third element we're not considering, something that triggers the event. Either way, we should be grateful nothing actually happened when you did play it, considering both the gramophone and the record haven't been neutralized."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Maybe it's like Jumanji?" Miss Donovan did have a knack for piping up with the strangest ideas and referencing things Elsie couldn't possibly begin to understand. Nevertheless, so long as it solved this problem, the housekeeper didn't mind. "I mean, you didn't let the song play out before,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And she certainly won't be anytime soon!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Look, all I know is that," The teenager turned back to the housekeeper and the butler. "Chances are you're somehow connected to this. Maybe you've gotta be nearby when we set this right, maybe you've gotta be the one to play the record –– I'm not entirely sure,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Of course, what Claudia has forgotten is that, as Warehouse agents, we're the ones best suited to handle artifacts. So, we're going to be the <em>only</em> ones playing that record once the gramophone's been neutralized."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Thank God."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Elsie was still too dazed to glare at Charles for his obvious relief. Truly, as worrisome as it may be, she felt as though she needed to be the one to play the piece.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude, are you sure? I mean, this has been a part of her life for <em>eons</em>. Not literal eons, of course, but you know. And I know I did ask her to back off a minute ago, but I dunno––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm sure. We don't know what it'll do if she comes into contact with it,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"But she's wearing gloves!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Doesn't matter." Mr. Donovan sternly affirmed, bringing his awareness back to Elsie. She remained still, not caring for the suspicious manner that protruded from his gaze. This would all be put to rest much faster if he would only allow her to try out her plan. "It's nothing personal, Mrs. Hughes: we always strive to take every precaution we can when it comes to artifacts."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"And for good reason."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now she could roll her eyes at Charles' disdain and freely did so, watching in bemusement as the two Americans set to work. Keeping the record safely encased in the neutralising liquid, Mr. Donovan instructed his charge to keep a careful distance as he approached the gramophone. Miss Donovan followed his instruction with great petulance, bemoaning the entire situation even as she stepped back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Carefully, the portly American pulled off the canvas that protected the object. At the sight of the gramophone, that old plan reinforced itself in her mind, begging to be brought forth into fruition. She shook it off, watching as the man began to expertly dribble neutraliser onto the gramophone. Managing to keep the record inside, he possibly hoped to neutralise both parts of this bifurcated artefact in one go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the sight of that liquid dripping once more, Charles –– doubtlessly horrified by the mess this might entail –– started up a protest. But before he could properly speak up, Miss Donovan brazenly shushed him as Elsie took hold of his hand. Thankfully, he was far too consoled by the latter to become irritated over the former. Instead, they all watched as Mr. Donovan finally brought the disc toward the gramophone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Nothing occurred.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The disgruntled American took several steps back, warning them that there could be a delayed reaction, but to no avail. They continued to wait in silence. One minute became two. Two became three-and-a-quarter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And soon enough, she had had enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Donovan,"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The man blinked, frazzled curls looking as though they had flinched at the name, "'Mr. Donovan'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Is that not your name?" Elsie inquired calmly, quirking an eyebrow. Miss Donovan admitted he was akin to a father; the housekeeper presumed she meant to imply he was family. An uncle, perhaps, or some equivalent. It would make for a strange relation, given what tidbits they'd unearthed earlier, but the alternatives were a bit too far fetched for her taste.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh," The American ran a hand through said curls before gruffly nodding.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was at this point that Elsie chose not to question his hesitancy. Nor did she acknowledge the fact that Miss Donovan was radiating joy, doing her best to quietly bounce in her place. Instead, the servant focused on getting back to the heart of the matter: solving this case of theirs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"In that case, Mr. Donovan," It really was a pity she had to let go of Charles for this next bit. "Seeing as how nothing seems to have happened with your theory, perhaps you'll allow me to try mine?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I don't see how that could possibly change anything," "Elsie, suppose something happens," "Guys, I really think we should let her try."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The arguments continued to spill out amongst them, each adding to the haze of discomfort growing in the room. Soon enough, Mr. Donovan became engaged in countering Miss Donovan's arguments whilst Charles was handing out his opinion to anyone who cared to listen. On and on, the debate melded into indistinguishable noise, giving the woman rather a headache.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I do believe that's quite enough!" It might've been the fact that her accent held a pointed edge. It was possibly due to the fact that her glare held more frost than Argyll in the winter. Either way, her terse statement ushered silence back into the attic as she took charge once more. "Now, Mr. Donovan, you may accompany me if you'd like. But, I must insist you let me try."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She could hear Charles start up yet another protest, but he wisely held his tongue. As for Miss Donovan, she at least seemed to be inclined to let Elsie carry on. Unfortunately, it was Mr. Donovan that held all the cards in this hand. He held the most seniority in these regards and, as luck would have it, he looked to be conceding.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"All right." The man didn't look happy about the matter, however, he was indeed giving into her request. "But I'm staying right here."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Of course." Perhaps, if this was indeed the artefact acting out one final time, he would be able to stop the situation from worsening. But, she suspected that his accompaniment would not be necessary.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, at least, she hoped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>One Minute Prior</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie Nielsen watched with a great deal of wariness as Mrs. Hughes joined him only a few feet away from the gramophone. He didn't like this plan one bit, and his dislike only grew the closer she drew. There was nothing suspicious per se, just a strong feeling that he had to keep his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Stay back, Claudia." Because the closest thing he had to a daughter was inching her way over, and he wasn't gonna risk losing her again. Never again, not if he could help it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The agent ignored his charge's complaints, his eyes glued to Mrs. Hughes' movements. He watched as the servant spared him a look before stepping up to the gramophone, holding out a hand toward the record.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That's when the trouble began.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her hand hovered right above the gramophone's needle, drawn to space surrounding it. And as the tips of her fingers grazed the needle, moving it to the appropriate spot, light and energy flared through the space –– that delayed reaction of theirs coming to life.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Artie Nielsen, you're an idiot.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn't the first time he'd thought that, let alone the first time this week.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Didn't take away the truth that, in this case, it was unfortunately true.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude, chill! She's got this under control!"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"'Under control'?" He whipped around to his charge, his attitude far beyond aggravated. "'Under control'?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If by "under control", Claudia was implying that they were all making a colossal mistake then, yes, Mrs. Hughes had <em>everything </em>under control. She had everything well in hand with that glow of hers! Of course, "glow" was a cute description for the term; and, no, he wasn't talking about the original definition. There was nothing shrewd about a woman and a gramophone becoming encapsulated in a sphere of violet, strands of cobalt flickering like electricity as she kept a hand on the instrument.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Donovan," Her accent was quite lyrical by this point, something that had to have come with having a hand on the gramophone. "Do you not suppose you ought to trust me by now?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His only response was to lunge toward the sphere and put a hand on Mrs. Hughes, knowing his guilt would only multiply if he did nothing––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Please don't be offended,"</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>If I preach to you awhile."</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sphere expanded to slowly encompass them both as the silence of the attic was now flooded with this unfamiliar song.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Tears are out of place in eyes that were meant to smile."</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He hadn't noticed he'd started crying. Hadn't really noticed anything, other than the fact that he couldn't move. Actually, it was kinda nice standing still, basking in the lulling melody. Letting its calming message wash over him as the world eased into a peaceful existence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>There's a way to make your very biggest troubles small,"</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He felt lighter than he had in years. Felt as though all the worries and the guilt and the pain were being brushed away, overpowered by the soothing lyrics.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Here's the happy secret of it all."</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hands, determined ones attached to scrawny arms, took hold of him and firmly ripped him away from that sphere. Artie blinked at the coldness that came with the feeling, longingly reaching out back toward the gramophone –– drowsily insistent on learning what the happy secret was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>What? </em>The man stumbled backwards, reality indifferently coating him all at once. He turned back to see Jeeves –– yeah, he wasn't gonna call him Charles even if it was the only lead he had –– use all possible strength to take hold of Mrs. Hughes and tear her away from the gramophone. What was going on? Why were they being dragged away before they could find out more?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Don't you ever do that to me." Angry tears were scratching at his clothes as he was brought in for another hug. "Don't you <em>ever </em>do that to me again."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I-–"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But she wasn't done. "What the hell were you thinking, Artie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Well––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Did you notice that you were totally fading away the longer that damn thing kept going?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Claudia––"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Do you get that I can't lose you again?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie had no response for that. He only let Claudia's tears continue to pummel him, those sobs from before making another comeback. Eventually, when his senses started to really come back, he could take a little consolation in the fact that Mrs. Hughes was receiving a similar treatment. Not identical, but definitely similar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except, that consolation didn't last for long: "Dude, why's it still going?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The agent detachedly turned to face the gramophone, unwittingly drifting back toward it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, you're <em>so </em>not doing that!" This hug seemed more like Claudia's attempt to keep him from even thinking about the secret the gramophone had been seconds from revealing. "But you are going to tell me what's going on."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts of the strange temptation to listen to that song. As strong as the temptation was, Claudia's stubbornness was stronger. And right now, he needed that stubbornness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Didn't you hear that song?" Clearly the gramophone had to play out at least that song, if not the entire recording, in order to be properly neutralized.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I wasn't exactly gonna try to stick around and listen," The teen's quip was jagged, lacking its normal playfulness. He might've responded, except for the fact that someone was interrupting them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Just what is going on?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie turned toward Jeeves and Mrs. Hughes, eyes widening at the spectacle. Claudia hadn't been joking about the whole fading thing: at a second glance, it was obvious the housekeeper had to recover from the experience. She looked to be regaining herself, but it was slow going: the ghostly quality of her skin was only just beginning to subside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"This is why we <em>never </em>get too close to an artifact," Any chance to lecture his charge on that lesson was a chance he would take. And considering that the last minute had to have been a by-product of the artifact, he figured now was as good a time as any to reinforce the lesson.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Problem is, he couldn't elaborate. Not when he was being glared down from the other side of the room, a certain servant breaking through the Americans' little heart-to-heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Right." Did this guy take lessons from Mrs. Frederic? Is that why his tone had the agent quietly gulping in fear. "What did you do?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie really hadn't been expecting to deal with an angry butler. He also hadn't expected to feel this disoriented and depleted, as though the artifact had taken some of his energy with it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Uh," This answer didn't seem to satisfy Jeeves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luckily, Claudia had noticed something that would help de-escalate the situation: "Hey, it looks like she's coming back! Mrs. H, can you hear us?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was true: the servant was stirring back to life, color returning to her features. She still looked a little pale, but it was nothing like before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Erm," It seemed she was just as off-balance as Artie. It made sense: he'd never gotten caught in the blast before, not like that. And seeing as how that gramophone was still bathed in that sphere, if the blue light bouncing around the attic was anything to go by, this was probably a special case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He made to speak on the subject, to inform the others of his potential explanations for the situation. Only Claudia was still in freak-out mode and Jeeves was too busy embracing Mrs. Hughes, whispering something only she could hear. So, Artie figured it was best to just let it be and stay right where he was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Ah, nuts. Now <em>we're </em>glowing!" He blinked once again, looking at the teen in concern. Claudia was right: they were becoming enveloped by some sort of light. Not quite like from before, but something was clearly changing in the atmosphere.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, there was only one thing for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It's all right, Claudia. It's gonna be okay." This time, he was the one who pulled her into a hug. Because he may be feeling discombobulated, but he sure as hell knew the best thing to do would be to accept whatever was about to happen next and do his best to be there for her. "I promise."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie had no right to make that promise, he knew that. Didn't stop him from making it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Mr. Donovan," <em>Thank God she's okay. </em>At least Mrs. Hughes was well enough to speak up again. That meant she'd been saved from the worst of whatever had just happened, if nothing else. It also helped to see that she and Jeeves weren't glowing, the pair looking pretty normal as they stood just a few feet away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Yeah?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was a brave soul for continuing to stare at him as that glow brightened, the damn thing steadily growing in intensity. Hell, she was a brave soul for humoring them in the first place, letting two complete strangers tell her a story no one in their right mind would ever believe. So, whatever she had to say, he would listen with everything he had..</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Thank you."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie didn't have time to respond. Couldn't say anything as a strange hum shushed all thoughts. He could only absorb the sound of a beloved voice quietly cracking a joke about being beamed up by Scotty. Light overpowered all senses involved as the world began to blind him one last time…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is the last cliff-hanger for the story, I promise! The next update, which will be coming much sooner than this one, will be the final piece for this sweet little story.</p>
<p>Also, for those who want to know what the song is: look up "Marion Harris - Look for the Silver Lining (1921)". It's a lovely song from a touching scene in Downton, and I just had to reference it here.</p>
<p>In any case, best of luck to you wherever you are in the world and have a lovely day!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. An End</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Author's Note: </strong>Distinguished readers, we have hit the end of this adventure! It has been a delight to write this crossover –– I really hope you've enjoyed the journey as well as today's updates!</p>
<p><strong>Guest Review Notes: </strong>To any future guest reviewer, I'll do my best to respond. Any response I'm able to make will appeared right before the <em>Bonus Scene.</em></p>
<p><strong>Warning: </strong>Slight language, courtesy of some Americans, amongst some morbid questions, general uncertainties, and a hint of vomiting.</p>
<p>In any case, as always, I hope you enjoy this and have a lovely day!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Aren't we supposed to be dead by now?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Morbid thought, I totally get that, but still. The artifact was totally acting up –– still don't understand what was going on with that, if I'm being for real. But, yeah there was a mega huge flash of light. Followed by a really weird humming noise and the feeling like we disappeared from the world. Totally a "Scotty, beam me up," kinda moment, except no Scotty? Also, I don't really know if we got beamed anywhere? Still feels like we're surrounded by that dusty taste that all attics have, unless, of course, we're really dead and this is all just the matrix acting out? Because if that's all this is, I want a refund.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>… <em>Actually, yeah, </em>are <em>we actually still here?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Actually, on second thought, I really don't want to know. I know, I know: I've probably gotta open my eyes at some point in life. But if I could hold off for just another few minutes, that'd be real swell. Ha, swell. What a funny word. Throwback to the 50s much? Or was it the 40s? Maybe the 30s? Ugh, it just feels like it was a general 20th century thing, like how amazeballs is something that never went past 2010. At least, I hope it's not getting past 2010. Bad enough that––</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A familiar groan stopped Claudia Donovan from getting too trapped in her thoughts, the young woman realizing she had continued to tightly hold onto her father-figure throughout this entire experience.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Artie?" Eyes fought dust and dim lighting as they cracked open, readily taking in the sight of her disheveled boss-turned-parent struggling to move. She loosened her hold as he muttered his way back to the land of the living, the man far too disoriented to be coherent. She didn't know if it was his age, artifact-inducement or what, but something was throwing him off balance. "You okay?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whatever his response, it just wasn't getting through to her. Totally cause for concern, but also totally a great motivator for looking around and seeing what the hell was going on. Because if that artifact was somehow still doing something to him, she was gonna have to neutralize it's ass again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Keeping a hold on Artie, Claudia dared to crane her neck back toward that stupid record-playing gramophone thing. It was covered up by the canvas and all that sweet jazz, but she knew what to look for in this unnecessarily complicated attic. Problem was, she had <em>no idea </em>how they were supposed to get it back to the Warehouse. If they were lucky, it'd be easy to transport along with that record. Of course, knowing their track record for lucky outcomes, it wasn't going to be easy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, she had more important things to worry about, "Artie? Sure you're alright?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, the muttering was just a bit more coherent: "Claudia?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The teen didn't like how tired he sounded. She also really didn't like how the whole unexplainable artifact stuff had taken all of his energy. That he'd been leaning on her since before they were "beamed up" wasn't helping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"It's okay, Artie." The teen could only assume that, with the absence of Mrs. Potts and Jeeves, they'd made it safely back. They had to be on home turf now, at least in a dimensional sense. Hopefully.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>'<em>Kay, 'nuff of that talk, Donovan. Let's get down to business and defeat those Huns.</em> Whatever was going on, she'd make sure to be there for him just like he'd been there for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>… What exactly was going on, again?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Eighty-Eight Years Ago</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>First, he'd been given a ridiculous tale filled with half-truths and enigmas. Little breadcrumbs, hinting of the future, repeatedly tossed aside as though–– wait, no, that wasn't the truth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first thing he'd experience was that heart-attack brought on by the antics of those Americans. For it was they who'd dumped that liquid –– what did they call it, neutraliser? –– onto Elsie. And whilst that ordeal had ended on a surprisingly pleasant note, that didn't mean it made up for the catastrophes that followed. Spilling bits of that disgusting liquid in the attic, destroying his Lordship's possessions in the name of neutralising artefacts, <em>allowing Elsie to risk herself and nearly die in the process.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, it was that last one that Charles Carson particularly irritated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And petrified.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And a host of other emotions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And, speaking of that torturous situation, "Elsie?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was regaining herself, at least somewhat. She'd been doing just that before those pesky Americans disappeared. However, with their disappearance, a wave of something slammed into the servants. It nearly knocked him over but, and this was the worst part, it had sent her back into that ghastly state. The one where she was a shell of herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could only pray they hadn't woken the house. That they weren't minutes from being discovered here with no plausible explanation in sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Or, at least, that's what he would've once prayed for. Now he could only pray for the safe recovery of the woman he loved. For, yes, now that he'd almost lost her, Charles could finally admit that he did love her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What good that did them now, he honestly couldn't say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That would be because, despite this supposed neutralisation the Americans spoke of –– Americans who seemed to have vanished straight into thin air, mind –– Elsie looked to be worse off than she'd been before. For one thing, she remained limp in his arms, nearly unconscious from the night's events. For another, the rate in which that paleness was leaving her visage was <em>much</em> too slow for his comfort. His only consolation was that she seemed to be stirring in his arms, her breath easing back into a tangible rhythm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yet she still remained oblivious to his voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Elsie?" When the strain of holding her up became too much, he gradually lowered her to the ground, making sure to join her as he did so. The only thing that could be done now was to keep on praying that she came back to him, that this was not the end for them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, now it was a matter of sitting, and waiting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And waiting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And waiting…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He knew that they couldn't remain here forever. Even if they weren't discovered, in only a few hours, the house would be roused to life. By that point, it would hardly be conducive for––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Oh, shut up." He couldn't bring himself to give a flying fig about the house. She was <em>still </em>much too pale, much too reticent, much too not-Elsie. And he'd almost lost her to cancer not too long ago, he couldn't lose her to something out of a Lewis Carroll novel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only, a Lewis Carroll novel wouldn't end like this. The last page wouldn't linger on this unknown, her in his arms and him helpless to the situation. It would all be proven to be a dream, a bizarrely imaginative figment of his thoughts. And he would wake up in seconds, having fallen asleep from overworking himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He'd hear her heels click into the room long before her gentle proddings properly stirred him back to consciousness. Hers would only be the only voice that matters, despite the endless bustling noises that would surround them. He'd raise a groggy head to discover an arched eyebrow and curved lips, a Chesire cat grin if ever there was one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There'd be a banter, an acknowledgement that he was doing too much and she wouldn't stand for it. And maybe he'd realised how lucky he was to have someone like her by his side. Or maybe he'd realise it later, when they were surreptitiously patrolling the halls and his hand couldn't help but brush up against hers, <em>accidentally,</em> of course.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe, and this was the best maybe of all, he'd realise as such when they're finally allowed to be themselves. When they were alone at last after another arduous day. She would be murmuring his name as he's pouring them sherry and it would hit him right then and there just how lucky he truly was. Yes, he can hear it all right quite plainly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Charles?" Only, her voice doesn't sound that raspy, that drained. It'd be much crisper, much more alive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Alive?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Brown orbs blink back pain, fighting to take in the sight before them. Hands move without thinking, the embrace tightening as shuddering gasps escape them both. She can barely move and he can hardly breathe but neither is lost, not now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Elsie." Unashamedly, his tears continue to plunge through the air, meeting her own silent sobs as all this torture, this horrendous pain that's stalked her and tainted him all this time, finally leaves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Thirty Seconds Prior</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There had been warmth. A soothing warmth that enveloped her entire body. She had leant into the sensation, unable to do much more than that. She must've overslept, allowed the sun to seep into her room and lull her into this blissful comfort. It was the only explanation for it, it had to be.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only, why did she feel raindrops?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The drizzle seemed to be concentrated solely on her face, but there was indeed a droplet or two caressing her cheeks. Which made absolutely no sense, unless Downton's pipes were somehow experiencing a leak. Even then, she rather doubted it would have led to this?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Suppose you've fallen asleep outside? Suppose it's raining and you've dozed off?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>… <em>Well, why would've I done that? </em>Groggy and disoriented she may be, Elsie knew herself better than that. Or, at least, she hoped as such.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Besides, she could hardly think of a place outside this comfortable. This was not the warmth that came with resting underneath a tree, nor was it ever this soft and relaxing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bleary eyes tested their sight, blinking away the confirmation that they were definitely not resting underneath a tree. No, it was something infinitely preferable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Only, he looked much too distraught for her liking. The man may have been smiling, but it was the dreadful kind, the wistful kind. The one that always pained her to see, especially on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world continued to swirl around her, forming a rather vulnerable Charles Carson, something that pushes her to say only one thing:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Charles?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She couldn't do much more than that. Already, the effort taxed more than she wished. All she really was able to do now was glance in the direction of the gramophone. That, and feel nothing but relief as nothing happened. There were no pressing lyrics or desires to play a certain record, not now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>That</em>, if nothing else, had to count for something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a glance back at Charles, she met his incredulous smile with one of her own, squeezing his hand as best as she could. His eyes told her everything he couldn't bring himself to say, coaxing her to bridge the silence once more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"I'm afraid you're stuck with me for quite some time," Elsie tried to ignore how weak the words sounded, instead putting all of her energy into reassuring him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seemed, however, words wouldn't convince him of her sentiment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fortunately, they could come to an agreement in regards to what would.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shouldn't have relied on Claudia as much as he did. But there was a haze that'd overtaken him, a side-effect of getting into direct contact with whatever that artifact had been hellbent on doing. And, yeah, his gloves should've protected him, should've neutralized the damn thing, but they hadn't.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, the field penetrated his existence in such a way he'd been helpless to it. He still felt pretty damn helpless, if his lack of equilibrium, was anything to go by. Swaying and swinging, unable to be rid of this idiotically <em>woozy </em>feeling, the field agent had resigned himself to leaning against a wall as his charge began to make sure everything was taken care of –– the artifact, their luggage, everything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was so out of it he couldn't even question the Farnsworth conversation she'd held with Mrs. Frederic, their words dissipating before he could hold onto them. No, he was gonna be incapacitated for at least a while longer. Hopefully not permanently. Honestly, he would swear the effects were beginning to wear off––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yeah, maybe he shouldn't pretend to be feeling better, not just yet. Not when he was dipping into even more fog, his body unwittingly sliding off the wall and––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Painful as these floors were, they were colder than the rest of the attic. They helped cut through the haze, even if it was only a papercut. Didn't help the growing headache or the equilibrium problems, but it was something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even if by stumbling to the floor, he wound up inflicting more pain on himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Dude," Okay, he was able to make that one out at least. The rest of Claudia's words were lost to him, just as garbled as they'd been before. He could only trust that she knew what she was doing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"<em>Mr. Donovan," </em>The words flickered to the forefront, the haze fading to let them through. "<em>Do you not suppose you ought to trust me by now?"</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Artie was being eased back into a sitting position, a stubborn warmth keeping him upright. It was all thanks to the young woman he considered a daughter, someone he had immense gratitude for. But his body was too drained to do much more than let the world keep on spinning, stupidly incapable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If he'd been in a more coherent state of existence, the man might've pegged his current state as a sign of the tension he's been carrying this entire time. He might've considered it to be a reflection of the relief that came with neutralizing a very, <em>very</em> cold case. Oh, yeah, not to mention the whole <em>getting in direct contact with an artifact in the process of neutralization.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>He's hearing his name again, slipping in and out of this level of consciousness without fail. He doesn't mean to, he doesn't really want to, but––</p>
<p> </p>
<p>"Stay with me, Artie." Her hug rips the haze apart, the familial tenderness soothing the nausea for once.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least, that's what he thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bile rises within him, a sickness he can't stop from lashing out and escaping his body. He's still out of it, still trapped in whatever this is, but nothing will deter her from staying with him. Something he can't understand as everything continues to escape –– repressed tears, self-beration, it all comes, much to his disgust, spewing out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She's there all the while, completely supportive every step of the way. No judgement whatsoever. Just a constant reminder that he's not alone, that he doesn't have to do any of this by himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He won't know when he stumbles into unconsciousness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>All that he will know is, after everything that's happened, it is okay.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Author's Note: Once again, thank you for the heartwarming attention to this story! The hits, the reviews, the follows, the favorite, it's definitely appreciated.</p>
<p>Before I leave you with the bonus scene, I wanted to just let you know one more thing: as you probably guessed, things are changing over here just like with the rest of the world. Because of it, I'm gonna have to let go of writing for a bit. Not forever, never forever, but definitely for a little while.</p>
<p>In any case, truly, I hope you've enjoyed this story and that you have a marvelous day!</p>
<p>Bonus Scene:</p>
<p>Recoveries always manage to take much longer than people anticipate. Much like jars of preserved oranges, they are something that can last far longer than anyone intended.</p>
<p>But that doesn't mean the pain lasts forever.</p>
<p>_._</p>
<p>He'd found the note long after the bifurcated artifact had been retrieved. The piece of writing had been tucked away in the record's cover, accidentally slipping out as the thing was shelved.</p>
<p>The handwriting was old-fashioned, decidedly British.</p>
<p>He hadn't been able to look at it for a year.</p>
<p>When that year passed, when the regret finally –– truly –– eased off Artie Nielsen's shoulders, he found himself mildly curious. At least, he told himself it was only mild.</p>
<p>Mild, indeed.</p>
<p>The agent couldn't help but sneak the writing into the open one late night, daring to do so only when he was left to his own devices. He'd been planning on reading this for weeks now; he wasn't about to be interrupted by Pete.</p>
<p>And read it he would!</p>
<p>His hand traced the words Dear Mr. Donovan with faint amusement, knowing without a shred of doubt who penned this letter.</p>
<p>It all spoke of gratitude, managing to frankly convey a forgiveness he felt he didn't deserve. And it insisted that he recognize he did deserve that forgiveness. It also pointedly remarked that if he and his relation –– another gruff smile blossomed at that –– hadn't been there, the writer couldn't even begin to suppose what might've happened.</p>
<p>All of this would lighten the last of the weight he'd been carrying.</p>
<p>But the thing that would sweep that weight off altogether?</p>
<p>Further insistence that he ought to be very grateful to Claudia for her invaluable assistance. Particularly, if not for her peculiar habits and shocking choice of words, Charles might've dismissed the whole thing outright –– if only due to the fact that neither one of us could have ever imagined quite a character.</p>
<p>That was what got him to crack up, the very last of the tears finally beginning to fall.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fancy line breaks are fancy! I still can't believe it's taken me <em>years </em>to realize I could use them.</p>
<p>Now, I'm gonna try my best to keep the writing balanced out between the two fandoms to be fair. And although <strong>the main focus</strong> of the story <strong>will be on Chelsie and Team Clartie</strong>, it just didn't feel right to have a WH13 story without mentioning the rest of the team!</p>
<p>Moreover, for Downton fans, even though he was technically quoted/referenced already, a certain butler will be properly featured soon enough ;) Along with a few cameos from other lovely characters!</p>
<p>In any case, I do hope you enjoyed that and have a lovely day! Cya next Tuesday!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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